


Uncharted Waters

by elaine



Series: Paying the Rent [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-02
Updated: 2006-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is hunting a serial killer and Blair is offered a place on an expedition to Borneo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncharted Waters

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to luna_61 for the title and to Mab for her help with the story.  
> the events of this story draw heavily from the episode Cypher, but i've also "borrowed" from other eps, including Flight, Brother's Keeper and Remembrance. the story is set in the AU world of Paying the Rent and Deep Water. This story is set 4 years after Deep Water.

## Uncharted Waters

 

“Look, Chief, all I'm saying is…” Jim followed in Blair's wake as he stomped out of the elevator on the seventh floor. “if you'd done as I tol… as I _asked_ you…”  
  
“Jim, I'm an _observer_. I can't observe from the truck, okay?” Blair threw him a fulminating glance as they headed for the door to Major Crime. “I'm your backup, man. I need to be _with_ you.”  
  
“Don't touch that door!”  
  
At Jim's shout, Blair's hand stopped, mere inches from the door handle. His startled gaze went from Jim's face, to his fingers, to the handle. Slowly, he lowered his hand and moved aside, obedient to Jim's shooing motions. “But, Jim…”  
  
“Save it, Chief.” Jim opened the door and ushered Blair into the bullpen. Side by side, they headed for his desk. “You're not…”  
  
“…a cop,” Blair groaned. “Thanks, Jim. I think I've got that. Between you and Simon… 'Stay in the truck, Blair', 'Phone for backup, Chief', 'Sandburg, you're not a _cop_ '!” His voice rose sharply on the last complaint.  
  
“Well, you're _not_ …” Jim fell silent, suddenly aware that they were the focus of attention for the entire bullpen. “Haven't you guys got better things to do?”  
  
Faint sniggers were heard, though Jim couldn't be sure exactly who they came from. Brown grinned widely. “You're kidding, right? What did you do to Jelloboy?”  
  
Blair groaned and threw an accusing glance in his direction. “Just what I need. Another nickname.”  
  
Jim supposed it was an apt enough description – Blair had managed to wipe the green goo off his face, but it was smeared all over his jeans and shirt, and stuck his long curls together in messy clumps. He wiped the sudden grin off his face and replaced it with an expression of offended innocence. “Me? _I_ didn't do anything. If he'd stayed in the truck like I told him…”  
  
“Ellison, kind of you to put in an appearance…” Simon Banks' sarcastic comment faded into oblivion at the sight before him. He sighed. “Do I need to call for a Hazmat team?”  
  
“No, sir. Definitely non-toxic.” Jim repressed another grin. Between Blair and Simon, he could be in for a world of hurt, if he wasn't very careful. “We've made an arrest in the Abramowitz case, sir.”  
  
“Huh.” Banks glared around the bullpen, but everyone had already turned their attention, prudently, back to their work. “My office.” He held up a hand as Blair made to follow. “Not you, Sandburg. I've just had my carpet cleaned.”  
  
Jim hesitated, then turned back. “Don't sit in my chair. Don't touch _anything_ on my desk. You got that, Kermit?”  
  
“Yeah, very funny, Jim. Guess you're typing your own reports today.” Blair scowled at him, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.  
  
“Why don't you go see if H needs any help?” Jim chuckled as he headed for Simon's office.

***

“We could be in for some trouble, Jim.” Simon shoved a couple of manila folders across his desk. “The case is still with Homicide for the moment, but…”  
  
Jim picked up the top folder and flipped through the files. Adam Walker – aged thirty-six, known dope dealer, confined to a wheelchair. Found drowned in a bathtub. The photo was of a white man with longish dark hair, a scarf draped loosely around his neck. The second victim was Billy Bright – age twenty, an underground musician, also the same physical type, down to the long dark hair. Same cause of death. Same yellow silk scarf around the neck. No signs of strangulation or sexual assault.  
  
“It looks like a serial killer to me, Simon.” He read through the scene report. “Same MO… the scarf, missing items – photo frames empty, clothing taken. Trophies from the kill.”  
  
“We're keeping a lid on it for the moment, the last thing we need is a panicked city; but if there are any more… well, we'll be in the firing line.” Simon tossed the folders into his tray. “For now, this is just a heads up, but if the case is sent up to us, I want you on it. In the meantime, though, don't say anything to anyone. Including your partner.”  
  
Jim nodded. “You got it.”  
  
“Okay. Well, get your report in on the Abramowitz case and then take that kid home and get him cleaned up.”  
  
“My pleasure.” He grinned at the expression on Banks' face.  
  
“Go. Just go.”

***

Getting the goo out of his hair turned out to be easier than Blair expected but the water was running cool by the time he'd finished. He stepped out of the shower and towelled the wet strands vigorously before dumping the towel into the laundry basket. His clothes were in there too, sopping wet from being thoroughly rinsed in an effort to remove the worst of the goo before they went into the washing machine.  
  
He wandered out into the kitchen, still naked. “Smells good.”  
  
“Pasta puttanesca.” Jim barely spared him a glance. “Be ready in a couple minutes.”  
  
Blair stole a fingertip's worth of sauce from the spoon Jim was holding and sucked the sauce off, slowly, his eyes smouldering. “Turn the burner off.”  
  
Jim rolled his eyes. “We've got ten minutes to eat and get going, or we'll miss the start of the game.”  
  
“We could get hotdogs at the game.” He draped himself against Jim's side, his hand sliding down to mould against the perfect curve of Jim's ass. “That gives us ten minutes.”  
  
“Ten minutes?” Jim sucked wetly on his earlobe, then nipped it sharply. “Babe, if we get started now, we might as well forget the game altogether. We won't be finished by midnight.”  
  
“Oh well, if it's the game or sex…” Blair pulled away, all businesslike, then yelped as Jim flicked him with a dishtowel. “Okay, okay… I'll just go get dressed.”  
  
“Two minutes.” Jim mock-frowned.

***

The blaring horns were giving him a headache. Of course, the noise inside the stadium hadn't been much help either, but at least he'd enjoyed the game. Being stuck in traffic was just plain annoying.  
  
“I wanted to leave at the two-minute warning,” Jim growled. “We were up twenty points, but you had to stay till the end.”  
  
“Who cares, man? We won.” Blair whooped, grinning unrepentantly and bouncing in his seat.  
  
Static crackled from the radio, then “Code Two Four, Victor Twelve. Six O Nine there now. Screaming woman. 3328 Anthol Street, Apartment B. Reporting party at location.”  
  
Jim snatched up the handset. “One-zebra-one, show me handling the call.” He started the siren with a wince, and dialled his hearing down a little as he drove the truck up onto the sidewalk to get around the stalled traffic.  
  
“What's a Six O Nine, anyway?” Blair asked. It wasn't one of the codes they'd used while he'd been riding with Jim  
  
“A prowler.” Anthol Street wasn't far, and within a couple of minutes, he was pulling up outside the small apartment block. The front door of one apartment was standing open. “Stay behind me. The prowler could still be here.”  
  
Blair pressed a hand against Jim's shoulder briefly. “You got it, Jim.”  
  
“Police! Anybody home?” He crossed to the stairs and started up, but the sound of dripping water coming from below made him hesitate. “Hello?”  
  
He turned and headed back down the stairs and along a short hallway to the bathroom, with Blair staying close behind him. There was a woman in the bathtub, a yellow scarf around her neck, her eyes half open, and her lips parted as if in a silent scream.  
  
“Oh... Oh, man.” He glanced back over his shoulder in time to see Blair retreat along the hallway.  
  
Jim took out his cell phone to call for the forensics team. It looked like, come morning, he'd have that serial killer case. Simon was not going to be happy about _that_.

***

With Jim pulling extra hours on the serial killer case, Blair was free the following evening to get in some work of his own. He had a meeting in four days with Eli Stoddard to go over his thesis before submitting it for assessment. After that, he'd have to defend and then, if all went well, he'd have a Master's degree.  
  
His thesis subject – a comparison of subcultures in tribal societies with those in the Police – had been a perfect excuse to convince Simon Banks to authorise an observer's pass so Blair could ride along with Jim. He grinned, thinking back over the past few weeks. Talk about a roller coaster ride! But he thought it had at least convinced Jim that he knew what he was getting into when he applied for entry to the Academy.  
  
At times, he'd wondered if Jim had encouraged him to carry on studying in the hope that he'd change his mind about becoming a cop. In his darker moments, he'd feared that Jim believed the other cops would never accept him because of his background. The ride along had shown him that other cops – at least the ones in Major Crime – _would_ accept him. And that he really _did_ have something to contribute. Working with Jim every day and thinking up new ways for him to use his sentinel abilities had convinced both of them beyond doubt. Even Simon had unbent towards him to a degree that Blair would have thought impossible even a couple of years ago. There were times now when Simon seemed almost friendly.  
  
When the words on the laptop screen started to blur, Blair saved the file with a yawn. Last night he and Jim hadn't got home till late, and they'd both been up early, Blair to go to the library and Jim to the PD. He thought about having a quick shower and going upstairs to bed, then decided to wait a little longer. Maybe Jim would come home soon. He stretched out on the couch and turned the TV on.  
  
The rattle of the lock brought him out of a light doze, and Blair blinked in the dimness as the front door opened and Jim came inside. “Hey, Jim.”  
  
“I thought you'd be in bed.” Jim tossed his keys in the basket and turned away to hang up his jacket.  
  
“Nah. Decided to wait for a while. See if you came home.” He managed to push himself up into something approaching a sitting position as Jim came over and perched beside him. “Any progress on the case?”  
  
Jim shook his head. “Just going over the files on the previous victims. I'm not seeing any connections between them.” He slid his right hand across Blair's cheek and into his hair and leaned in for a kiss.  
  
“Mmn. Nice.” Blair drew away long enough to smile enticingly, then kissed him back. “You eaten?”  
  
“Chinese.” Jim tilted his head and began to nibble his way along Blair's jaw. “You?”  
  
“Leftovers.” He groaned softly and lay back against the cushions, enjoying the teasing little caresses. “Even washed the dishes.”  
  
Jim paused in unbuttoning his shirt and whistled appreciatively. “I'm impressed. Did you put out the garbage?”  
  
Blair shook his head lazily as Jim lightly kissed his nipple. “Gotta leave some mystery in this relationship, man.” He laughed breathlessly when Jim pinched the skin over his ribs, then reached up to pull Jim's t-shirt off over his head.  
  
When he was free of the t-shirt Jim bent down to kiss him again. “Five years, Chief. It's way too late for mystery.”  
  
“Whatever.” Blair pulled Jim over on top of him, then squirmed uncomfortably. “Get my jeans, will ya?”  
  
It only took a moment for Jim to strip off his jeans and toss them aside, and then they were both stretched out full length on the couch, legs tangling as they kissed lazily, exploring each other's mouths without haste.  
  
Jim's skin felt smooth as silk under his hands, and Blair stroked up and down the long muscles of his back, with slow, soothing movements. Their hips moved together, both of them only half hard and in no great hurry. It was sweet and hot and comfortable and Blair could have continued like this for hours. He knew Jim's body as intimately as his own, after all these years. Could read every tiny hitch in his breathing, every twitch of his muscles and every soft, breathless moan as though they were markings on a road map.  
  
He was just starting to think about escalating the action when the image of last night's murder victim flashed behind his eyes and he pulled away from Jim's mouth with a shaken gasp. His heart was pounding and he could feel tremors starting in his hands.  
  
“Blair?” Jim pulled back too. “Are you okay?”  
  
He forced himself to open his eyes again, only then realising that he'd clamped them shut. Jim had pushed himself up to arm's length and was staring down at him with a concerned expression.  
  
“Sorry… I just…” he swallowed, trying to banish the woman's face from his memory. A shiver ran through him and it was enough to prompt Jim to get up from the couch and stand looking down at him. “I'm okay. Really.”  
  
Jim didn't look convinced and Blair could hardly blame him. He sat up, swinging his feet down onto the floor and pushed his hair back from his face with both hands.  
  
“Blair, if you're having flashbacks… has something happened?”  
  
“No!” He looked up to see Jim's worried frown. “No, it's not like that. Just give me a minute, will you, Jim?”  
  
He hadn't had a flashback in over two years, but they'd been pretty intense while they'd lasted and had freaked Jim out almost more than they had him. It had almost always happened while he and Jim were having sex – he would see the faces of the men who'd abused him when he was a kid, and sometimes relive something he'd experienced. It had been a huge relief for both of them when they finally stopped.  
  
“It was that woman. Susan Frasier. I could see her face – her mouth open, like she was screaming, and her eyes, man... I'll never forget those eyes.” He shivered again and forced himself to lean back into the couch, to relax. “I... I didn't even know her. What would it be like if it was someone I knew, someone I cared about?”  
  
Jim went over to the fridge and got a bottle of water for each of them. “Murder victims tend to get the best of us. You've got to learn to separate yourself.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Right. Just check my humanity at the door?” _Not_ what he wanted to hear. He took the offered bottle and just held it.  
  
“Whatever it takes to stay present.” Jim looked down at him, eyes calmly assessing – the cop, not the lover. “What if the killer had still been at the scene, hmm? If your emotions are in the way, you're useless, potentially dangerous. Now, if you're going to be a cop, you've got to learn to do the right thing 'cause your life and the lives of many others are going to depend on it.”  
  
Blair sighed and let his head drop back against the top of the couch. His erection had completely deflated and the mood was definitely gone. “I'm whacked. I think I'll go to bed.”  
  
He forced himself to his feet and stumbled towards the stairs, suddenly feeling every minute of the long hours he'd been working lately, juggling his studies with the ride along. As he passed Jim, his lover caught hold of his arm.  
  
“Are we okay on this?” Jim's voice was low, concerned.  
  
“Sure, Jim.” He leaned in for a brief kiss and felt Jim's fingers stroke his arm lightly. “You coming up?”  
  
“In a minute.” Jim smiled faintly. “I'm just going to have a quick shower first.”  
  
He grinned and put a hint of sway into his hips as he went up the stairs. At the top, he paused and looked down at Jim. “I'll be waiting.”  
  
Unfortunately, he was asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

***

The crowd of reporters was the first thing they saw as Jim parked the truck down the road from the church. Blair groaned; he could still remember all too clearly how they'd swarmed around him after he'd given evidence in the de Silva case.  
  
As they crossed the road, Jim put a hand on his shoulder. “She could be in an open casket. You going to be okay with that?”  
  
Great. He hadn't actually thought of that, but he shrugged and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine, really.”  
  
“Serial killers often like to stay around, hang out, and admire their work, sometimes even taunt you to catch them, so stay alert.” Focused on the reporters, Jim obviously missed the way Blair's heart skipped a beat as the vultures spotted them and closed in. “Just keep moving.”  
  
Of course, it wasn't that easy. Don Hass got right up in Jim's face; he'd been riding the case pretty hard so far. “Detective Ellison? My sources report that it was actually the killer who placed the victim's 911 call. Any comment?”  
  
“Yeah. I'm late for church.” Jim evaded him neatly and Blair skipped hurriedly in his wake.  
  
Inside the church they parted, Jim to go up into a balcony where he could watch the whole congregation, Blair to sit amongst the mourners. It was an Episcopalian church, Blair thought. He let the sonorous words of the service flow over him and tried not to hear the quiet sobs around him. He couldn't see a lot from where he was sitting, and couldn't see the open casket at all, for which he was thankful. Then, just as the minister called for the mourners to approach the casket a splash of familiar colour caught his eye.  
  
A woman, dressed all in black and wearing a hat with a dark translucent veil was clutching a scarf the exact same shade as the one he'd seen around Susan Frasier's neck. He stood, as the others around him did, and looked up at Jim in the balcony, but Jim was scanning the crowd up near the casket. He waved to Jim, trying to get his attention, and then gestured to the woman making her way to the front of the church. It didn't seem like Jim had noticed either Blair or the woman, and he kept trying.  
  
Suddenly, there was a small commotion by the casket, and Blair turned just in time to see the woman hurry along the side aisle towards the door. When he looked up to the balcony, Jim was gone too. Shit! He worked his way to the door the woman had left by, but there was no sign of Jim or the woman, only the reporters milling around looking confused and frustrated. Jim's truck was gone.  
  
“ _Damn_ it!” He'd screwed up, big time. Blair dropped down to sit on the step, putting his head in his hands.

***

“All right. This new section is great, Blair. Really ties it all together.” Eli Stoddard flipped the pages back and handed the thesis back to Blair with a smile. After fifteen years in the States, his voice held only a hint of his native German accent. “I'm still a little concerned about chapter four, though. It's definitely improved, but your line of reasoning is still a bit shaky.”  
  
“I know.” Blair shook his head frustratedly. “I know what I want to say, but I just can't get it _out_ , if you know what I mean.”  
  
“Don't worry.” Eli patted his shoulder reassuringly. “It'll come to you. Just concentrate on the introduction and conclusion and give it a rest for a while. When you come back to it, I think you'll find that your thoughts are clearer.”  
  
“I hope so.” Blair put the rough draft into his backpack and stood. “Thanks, Eli.”  
  
“Sit down, Blair.” Eli stretched back into his chair with a quick grin, scrubbing a hand through his shaggy, dirty blond hair. “There's something else I wanted to talk to you about.”  
  
“Sure.” He sat again, watching Eli expectantly. Judging by the expression on his advisor's face it didn't seem like it was anything bad. “What is it?”  
  
“As you know, I'm getting together an expedition to Borneo, leaving in a month's time.”  
  
Blair nodded. This wasn't news to him. It was the reason his thesis deadline had been brought forward a couple of weeks, so Eli could help him prepare for the defence and sit on the examining board before he left.  
  
“I know you have plans, Blair, but the quality of your work has convinced me that it would be a criminal waste for you to join the police force.” He held up a hand to forestall Blair's objection. “No, please, listen a moment longer. You could definitely get your doctorate, and I see no difficulty in obtaining a teaching fellowship for you to help with your finances.”  
  
He leaned forward, his grey eyes intent. “But for the immediate future, I would like to offer you a place in the expedition. I really think you could make an important contribution, both to the expedition and to the field. You don't have to answer immediately, but I will need to know within two weeks if you're coming.”  
  
“Eli…” Blair hesitated, thrilled beyond measure at the compliment this invitation implied. “God, I'd _love_ to… but, Jim…”  
  
“Surely Jim wouldn't want to stand in the way of such an important opportunity.” Eli frowned slightly. “You were _made_ for this kind of work, Blair. I've rarely seen someone more willing to put aside their own cultural programming and accept people on _their_ terms. That, as much as academic brilliance is what makes a great anthropologist.”  
  
“But, a whole year?” Fuck, he was tempted. But the work he was doing with Jim was more important, even if it would probably never be openly acknowledged. And besides… “I couldn't leave him for that long.”  
  
Eli shrugged. “Well, like I said, you don't have to give me a definite answer right now. Think about it, okay? I wish I could give you more time, but there's a lot of paperwork involved.”  
  
Blair nodded. “Okay. But it's going to be the same answer.”  
  
Eli simply smiled.

***

Jim arrived home to find Blair so deeply immersed in his work that he didn't even look up from his laptop. He dropped the keys onto the little table beside the door with a loud clatter and grinned as Blair absently glanced in his direction.  
  
“Oh, hey, Jim.” He smiled vaguely and then his eyes focused once again on the screen.  
  
Shrugging off his jacket, Jim hung it on a hook and took Hass' videotape out of the pocket. He went over to Blair and stood looking over his shoulder at the words on the screen. Most of it was some kind of anthro-tech jargon that was completely meaningless to him. “So, how's it going?”  
  
“Okay, I guess.” Blair's voice was distracted as he typed another sentence. “I've almost finished the actual writing, but I'll probably have to make some more revisions. I've got another meeting with Eli in a couple of days.”  
  
“Uh huh.” He bent over and nuzzled the side of Blair's neck. “Try not to wear yourself out, Darwin.”  
  
“Jim, man, I'm busy here.” It was only a token protest, but Jim kissed the top of his head and moved away. “Oh yeah, and there's food in the stove.”  
  
“Thanks.” He tossed the videotape onto the far end of the table and headed for the kitchen. “I knew there was a reason I kept you.”  
  
“It's only pizza.” Blair looked up again and grinned. “I haven't had much time for cooking.”  
  
“Pizza's good.” Jim took the pizza out of the stove, still in its box and brought it back to the table. There wasn't a lot of space that was free of Blair's books and papers. “I'm not going to be in your way here, am I?”  
  
“No. Just toss that stuff on the floor if it's in the way.” Apparently Blair was either finished or taking a break because a moment later he closed the lid of the laptop and stretched, yawning. “Coffee?”  
  
“Yeah. This is good pizza. Is it from that new place?”  
  
“Giovanni's? Yeah. I heard it was good so I thought I'd try it.”  
  
The familiar sounds of coffee preparation drifted over from the kitchen. It was soon followed by the scent of brewing coffee and Jim inhaled appreciatively. There wasn't much that smelled better than coffee and pizza together. Before he'd got halfway through his meal a mug of coffee appeared at his elbow and Blair sat down beside him.  
  
“What's on the tape, Jim?” Blair picked it up and turned it over as though he could somehow discern the contents from the outside.  
  
Jim took another bite of pizza and chewed before answering. “Susan Frasier's funeral service. I got it off Don Hass in exchange for the promise of a hot tip. He got some footage of the suspect running away from the church and I thought I might pick up something.”  
  
“Good idea.” Blair hesitated. “You know, there was something… I dunno, something off about her. I didn't get that good a look, but something didn't feel right.”  
  
“Yeah?” Jim waited hopefully, but Blair just shrugged. “How about we watch this together. Maybe you'll figure it out.”  
  
“Maybe.” Blair yawned again. “Sorry I'm not being much help on this case, but…”  
  
Jim interrupted him with a quick kiss on the lips. “You've got plenty on your plate right now. You don't have to apologise.”  
  
“So, what else is happening?” Blair stole a slice of pizza and took a bite. “Any progress?”  
  
“Forensics is going over the car she was driving.” Jim shrugged. “Other than that… you know I really thought that she'd have drowned when she jumped off the bridge. The currents in that stretch of water are deadly, but the dive teams didn't find a body. Oh, and Simon's called in a forensic psychologist. Dr. Anthony Bates.”  
  
Predictably, Blair's eyes lit up. “Really? Cool.”  
  
That hadn't been _his_ reaction to the news, but Jim just smiled. “Maybe you should come in tomorrow. _You_ might understand what the hell he's talking about.”

***

Just before noon, Jim made his escape while Simon and Bates were in a meeting with the Commissioner. If he had to listen one more time to Simon's grouching, about how he'd lost the suspect he'd probably go postal. He drove to the university and found Blair's car without any difficulty – he knew all Blair's favourite parking spots. There was only a thin trickle of students leaving their lectures early, and Jim strolled towards Hargrove Hall at a leisurely pace. Somewhere along the way, he'd find Blair.  
  
He did find him, eventually, standing on the steps of Hargrove Hall, deep in animated conversation with a man about Jim's age, maybe a little younger. Taller than Blair by only a couple of inches, with shaggy dark blond hair, the other man looked like a student but was probably a lecturer. Jim stopped beside a couple of trees, waiting for Blair to finish his business.  
  
Out of habit, Jim glanced around at the people wandering across the grass, noting that the trickle had grown to a steady flow of pedestrians. Then a movement in the periphery of his vision brought his attention back to Blair. The other man had a hand resting lightly on Blair's arm and as Jim watched he leaned forward and kissed Blair lightly on each cheek.  
  
It didn't seem like Blair minded. He grinned cheerily and the two men separated, Blair to come down the steps, the other man to go inside. Blair was almost at the fountain before Jim shook himself out of his stunned immobility and crossed the road towards his lover.  
  
“Hey, Jim.” Blair's smile was open and easy. “What are you doing here, man?”  
  
“I just needed to get away from the PD.” Jim touched Blair's arm, guiding him in the direction of the truck. “You got time for lunch?”  
  
“If it's not too long.” Blair frowned slightly. “I've got a meeting in half an hour – one of the students I've been tutoring.”  
  
“Sure. Well, why don't I treat you to a hot dog? There's a cart just a couple of blocks from here.”  
  
“You sure know how to show a guy a good time.” Blair grinned, and hefted his backpack a little higher on his shoulder. “So, I guess the case still isn't going too well?”  
  
Jim groaned. “Simon was pissed enough that I let a high-heeled woman get away from me. You don't want to know what he thought of the prime suspect being a transvestite. The last couple of days have been hell. It's almost enough to make me wish I'd never got that tape off Hass.”  
  
“Well, I've gotta admit, that's a weird one.” Blair half turned towards Jim as they walked. “Yesterday, I spent some time researching information on serial killers, and I didn't find any references to a transvestite serial killer. Yours could be the first case of its kind.”  
  
“Aren't I the lucky one?” Jim smiled fleetingly at Blair's enthusiasm. “Unfortunately, it doesn't help us find the killer. Now I owe Hass a hot tip for giving me the tape and we're still no closer to finding a suspect.”  
  
“What about that forensic psychologist? Is he any help?”  
  
“Bates?” Jim shrugged. “He's got plenty to say, but when it comes providing any sort of lead…” he ran his hand over his face tiredly. “We're going nowhere fast.”  
  
“Well, you know, if I _did_ go to Club Doom…”  
  
“It's too dangerous.” Jim stopped and caught hold of Blair's arm to force him to do the same. “What if this transvestite's there, looking for his next victim? You know, the victims he's chosen so far are a very specific type – shoulder length dark hair, male or female…”  
  
“Now that's another thing, Jim. Serial killers usually stick to one gender – the straight men kill women, the gay ones kill other men. But…”  
  
“So maybe this one's sexually confused. But you're not getting it here, Chief. Billy Bright, Adam Walker… they both looked a lot like you. Even Susan Frasier was pretty close to the same type.” He saw with grim satisfaction that he'd startled Blair into a thoughtful silence.  
  
It lasted all the way to the hot dog stand. As Jim ordered their food, he watched his lover carefully, though what he expected to see he couldn't have said. All he knew was that the sight of another man kissing Blair, even if it was just on the cheek, had disturbed him in a way that was both unexpected and deeply, painfully familiar.  
  
Given Blair's background of abuse and the years he'd spent on the street, it still surprised Jim sometimes that he'd never shown any interest in other men in all the years since they'd become lovers. Sure, Blair knew that Jim wouldn't willingly share him with someone else, but that had never stopped thousands of unfaithful partners cheating on their lovers or spouses.  
  
Asking Blair about it was out of the question. They'd worked hard in the early years of their relationship to build the trust they had; asking Blair if he was seeing another man would destroy it in an instant. Blair would probably never forgive him, and Jim couldn't blame him for that. So, until he had a reason, evidence – not just a gut reaction to something that could be totally innocent – he would just have to deal with the situation as best he could.

***

A waft of cooler air and the dipping of the mattress dragged Blair unwillingly towards wakefulness. He rolled over and found himself up against a large, warm body. “Jim? You get her?”  
  
After the call had come in, Jim had insisted he come home rather than go with him to the Maritime Museum. He'd been pretty annoyed that Blair had gone to Club Doom in spite of his prohibition. That had been three hours ago, and around midnight, Blair had finally given up waiting and gone to bed.  
  
“Nope.” Jim's arm slid around his shoulders and Blair wriggled a little closer, shifting his head to rest on Jim's chest. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”  
  
“S'okay…” a yawn silenced him for a moment and he struggled for coherency. “Did she… he… get away?”  
  
“Oh, I caught the intruder, but he wasn't our serial killer.” Jim sounded frustrated as hell and Blair patted his chest absently. “The guy was paid to do it. He was in a detox tank the night Susan Frasier was killed.”  
  
“Shit. He's playing with us, isn't he?”  
  
“Oh yeah.” Jim's arm tightened around him. “Now do you see why I wanted you to steer clear of Club Doom? The guy's cunning and damned dangerous. I want you to be careful, you got that?”  
  
“Damn it, Jim, are you still pissed at me for that?” Blair pulled free of Jim's arm and pushed himself up on one elbow. He stared down at Jim's face, seeing it only dimly, but aware that Jim could probably see him as clear as day. “I got some valuable information, didn't I? And believe me, you could _not_ have got those band members to tell you anything. Dr _Bates_ thought I'd done good work.”  
  
There was a slight pause before Jim spoke and when he did his voice was calm. “I'm not saying you didn't do a good job, Chief.”  
  
“Then what is your problem?” Blair punctuated his words with firm pokes at Jim's chest. “And don't tell me I'm not a cop. If I'm going to be your partner you're not going to be able to keep me sidelined like this.”  
  
Predictably, Jim seized on that one tiny slip of the tongue. “If? Are you having second thoughts about the Academy?”  
  
“No!” Blair caught his breath and forced himself to calm down. He had every intention of following through, even if the invitation to join Eli's expedition had taken a little of the gloss off the prospect. “It's just… if you can't trust me to do this kind of stuff, then there's not much point in my being a cop, is there?”  
  
He felt a little guilty as Jim's body tensed next to his. Trust was such a huge issue for both of them, and he didn't like to use that when they argued, but he didn't know of any other way he could get the point across.  
  
“Blair… it's not that I don't trust you.” He heard Jim swallow. “When you've been through the Academy, and you've done the firearms and self defence training, it'll be different. Right now, you're just not equipped to protect yourself in some situations.”  
  
Oh. Blair sank down against Jim's side and wrapped an arm around his waist. He sighed tiredly. “Okay. I'll… think about it. But, you know, if I think something needs to be done, I can't promise that I won't do it, whether you like the idea or not.”  
  
Jim chuckled drowsily. “Yeah, I think I've got that one figured, Chief. And, Blair?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“About what I said last week… about crime scenes and staying present?” Jim's arm tightened again, and Blair knew he'd heard the sudden stutter of his heartbeat. “I'm sorry. I didn't think how it would sound to you.”  
  
Blair forced himself to speak calmly. “It's okay.”  
  
“No, it's not.” Jim rolled onto his side, facing Blair. “Just ignore what I said, okay? You don't have to deal with things the same way I do. You'll find your own way of coping.”  
  
“Will I?” He smiled shakily as Jim cupped his face with one hand, his thumb rubbing lightly over the cheekbone. It had taken him years of therapy to learn not to distance himself, even from Jim. To have Jim tell him that that was what he needed to do as a cop had been more painful than he'd realised at the time. “What if I can't?”  
  
“You will.” Jim kissed him lightly. “Talk to some of the other cops. Find out what they do. Talk to Laura. You're the strongest person I know, Blair; you'll work it out.”  
  
He kissed Jim, slowly and thoroughly exploring his lover's mouth. He was finally beginning to understand why Jim had always seemed unenthusiastic whenever he'd talked about becoming a cop. Nothing was ever as simple as it appeared from a distance. Now that he was only a few weeks away from graduating, and the Academy intake was only a month after that, he was being forced to face a lot of issues that he'd never considered before.  
  
Still kissing, Jim rolled onto his back, drawing Blair with him. He arched into Jim's side, sighing with pleasure as Jim rubbed slowly up and down his back, then settled with his head on Jim's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around Jim's waist again, and threw a leg possessively over Jim's thigh. Finally able to relax, he pressed his lips briefly against the smooth skin and allowed himself to drift into sleep.

***

Next morning when Jim woke, it was to an empty space beside him and the tapping of fingers on a keyboard from below. Not an unusual occurrence lately, as the deadline for Blair's thesis drew closer. He stretched and yawned, then rolled out of bed. Any inclination he might have had to linger had fled when he found himself alone.  
  
Blair scarcely glanced at him as he passed on his way to the bathroom, but when he returned maybe ten minutes later, still damp from the shower, he got a distracted “Coffee's brewing.”  
  
He grinned at Blair's oblivious, down turned head and went upstairs to dress. The coffee was ready by the time he was, and Jim poured himself a mug and then took the carafe over to freshen Blair's. “Had any breakfast yet?”  
  
Blair's hand came out and grabbed the mug, though he didn't look up. “I was gonna eat later.”  
  
“How about scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel?” Judging by the scattered notes and library books, Blair had been at this for a while already. “You can't run on empty.”  
  
“Nag, nag.” But Blair looked up at last, grinning. “Yeah, that sounds good.”  
  
“Ten minutes.” Jim headed for the kitchen. “Clear the table. We'll eat properly for once.”  
  
He kept an eye on Blair and about five minutes later the laptop was closed and Blair started scooping papers into a precarious pile. “You think you'll have time to come into the station today?”  
  
“Um…” Blair frowned, obviously trying to remember his schedule for the day. “Yeah, I can come in after my meeting with Prof Buckner.”  
  
“About the thesis?” The eggs were done and he turned off the burner. The plates were in the oven and the bagels had just popped out of the toaster. “Get the coffee and the OJ will you?” He got the plates out and piled the eggs onto them, along with the bagels.  
  
“No. It's about one of the students I've been tutoring.” Blair got the butter and juice out of the fridge and took them to the table. “The meeting's at ten and it shouldn't take long, so I can probably be there by eleven.” He looked up curiously as Jim laid the plate in front of him. “I kinda got the impression that you didn't want me involved in this case.”  
  
“No, it's not that.” The smell of the eggs was making his mouth water, and Jim took a bite before answering. He'd thought he might have been too hard on the kid, and Blair's attitude confirmed it. “I'm just… there's something about this case that bothers me.”  
  
Blair paused in buttering one of the bagel halves. “Man, there's a _lot_ of things about this case that creep me out.” He took an emphatic bite out of it, then waved it around for emphasis. “So, what's bothering you?”  
  
“I'm not sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck briefly. “That's what's bugging me. But you've been a lot of help – more than Bates has, that's for sure. He's been spouting all this stuff about signatures and psychological profiles, but you've turned up the best lead in the case so far.”  
  
“Yeah?” Blair paused long enough to beam at him, then resumed shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth as fast as possible. “I am _really_ hungry.”  
  
“No kidding.” His own plate had miraculously cleared itself, apart from a last chunk of toasted bagel, and Jim leaned back and took a long swallow of coffee. “There are some more forensics reports due in today. Maybe we'll get a break there.”  
  
“I hope so,” Blair shuddered. “This guy's a real head case.”  
  
Jim nodded. “And we want to get him before he kills again.”

***

There was a strange energy in the Major Crime bullpen today. Blair had felt it before when a difficult case was close to being resolved, and it always made him a little uneasy. He'd read about a tribe in New Guinea who would get so pumped up that they'd kill everyone they met on their way to a battle. Sometimes the atmosphere in the bullpen felt a lot like he imagined that would. He wondered what Naomi would make of it.  
  
He flipped through the file on Susan Frasier, carefully avoiding looking too closely at the photos of her in the bathtub. He didn't need to be reminded of that night; it was still far too vivid in his memory. This guy Lash must be one serious nut job – faking a 911 call for god's sake. Kidnapping the victims, drugging them and drowning them, before returning the bodies to their homes. Then wearing their clothes, taking on their personalities to stalk the next victim. If Forensics hadn't found that fingerprint in Frasier's car, they might still be floundering.  
  
Jim came through the door to the bullpen in a rush. “Chief, Simon's office.”  
  
Blair was up and following behind him in a flash. “What? Something happened?”  
  
“Lash's patient file is coming through in a second.” Jim nodded to Banks as they entered the office. “Sir, I just got a call. The file's on its way.”  
  
The fax began printing and as the first page finished, Simon grabbed it and started reading aloud. "Hm… 'Patient exhibits symptoms of multiple disassociative disorder. His primary identity is passive, extremely isolated, depressed. Alternate identities, however, are controlling and aggressive often absorbed from people in his proximity occurring in sudden shifts and for periods of short duration.' I don't know, Jim. Bates was right on with Lash's diagnosis. It's all right here in his file.”  
  
Simon passed the first couple of pages to Jim and Blair moved closer to read over his shoulder. Jim flipped through them, his body tensing suddenly. “What the hell is this? The diagnosis is signed Dr. Bates.”  
  
Simon turned to his computer, bringing up the file and reading off the screen. “Bates was Lash's psychiatrist?”  
  
“He's treating the son of a bitch.” Jim's voice was suffused with incredulous anger.  
  
Blair's gut tightened. Something was seriously wrong here. “Well, why wouldn't he let us know that?”  
  
Jim pulled the last page from the fax, frowning. He looked up, his face grim as he held up the page for them to see Lash's photo. “Our Dr. Bates is David Lash.”  
  
“Ah, Christ!” Simon's hand came down hard on the PA button. “This is Captain Banks. We have an emergency. Seal all the exits now!”  
  
Jim was already on his way out of the office and Blair followed hurriedly. If past behaviour was anything to go by, Simon was going to be worse than a bear with a sore head, and the only sane response was – as with a bear – to keep a safe distance.  
  
“Last I saw him, he was going into the men's room.” Jim was heading fast for the bullpen door. “Stay behind me, okay?”  
  
“No argument from me, man.” He followed Jim to the men's room, but it only took seconds to check that there was nobody there. Jim picked up Bates' clothes, left on the floor of one of the cubicles, his face grim.  
  
“Jim. Take a look at this. Oh, man.” He gestured towards the mirror where Lash had written in large red letters 'Who am I now?'

***

Blair watched bleakly as a uniformed officer led David Lash's father out of the interview room. He knew from experience that the numbness wouldn't last, and when it wore off he was going to feel like he'd been gut punched, so for the moment, the lack of sensation was almost welcome.  
  
“Chief… Blair, are you okay?” Jim's voice, laden with quiet concern distracted him for a moment, and he looked up to see Jim standing beside him, one hand on the back of his chair.  
  
He shook his head, not ready yet to formulate the polite lie that would ease Jim's mind. Not really able to speak at all.  
  
Jim's hand, gentle on his arm, drew him up out of the chair and into a loose embrace. Loose, because if Jim had tried to hold him as tightly as he obviously wanted to, it would probably trigger a panic attack of a magnitude he hadn't suffered in a long time. Blair leaned against his lover's solid warmth and closed his eyes.  
  
“I shouldn't have let you listen to that. I'm sorry, Blair.” A hand came to rest, cautiously, on his back just below his shoulder blades and began to rub slowly up and down.  
  
Blair sighed. He wished he hadn't heard it either, though it was hardly Jim's fault. “Jesus, Jim. I heard some sick shit from the other kids when I was on the street, but this… you know, an hour ago I would never have believed I could feel sorry for Lash, but now…”  
  
“I know. He never had a chance.” He felt Jim's lips brush against his temple, the most intimate caress Jim would dare in the middle of a police station.  
  
“I wonder if he's autistic. When he was a kid, it probably wouldn't have been diagnosed.” He was rambling, he knew. Running off at the mouth to cover the emptiness inside. He clamped his mouth shut. He was going to have to deal with crap like this when he was a cop.  
  
Jim's arms tightened just a fraction. “Look, you don't need to stay here. Why don't you go home?”  
  
Home sounded good. There sure wasn't anything more he could do here. “What about you, Jim?”  
  
He felt Jim shrug. “I've got some paperwork to catch up on, and then I might do a workout at the gym, but there's not a lot left I can do today. We know who the perp is, there's an APB out on him and his photo's all over the news. Sooner or later, someone's going to see him.”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair straightened, removing himself from Jim's embrace. “He's probably going to want to take another victim as soon as he can. Just to prove he's still ahead of us.”  
  
Jim nodded grimly. “And if we're lucky, he'll slip up.”

***

It was later than he'd expected by the time Jim finished the paperwork. It hadn't helped that Simon had been like a bear on the prowl, looking for the slightest excuse to let loose. Jim knew exactly how he felt – frustration and the sickening fear that Lash would strike again before they caught him were eating at him too.  
  
He debated skipping the workout and going home to Blair, but reluctantly decided against the idea. He needed the outlet of mindless physical activity to clear his head or he'd just end up taking out his irritation on Blair.  
  
The gym was unusually quiet, and Jim pushed himself hard, finding relief in the narrowing of his focus to the here and now. Blair had his candles and incense; _this_ was how Jim meditated. He finished at last and headed for the locker room, feeling the burn in his muscles like a benediction.  
  
His pager beeped just as he was pulling on his shirt, and he reached for it, hoping against reason that it was Simon – maybe Lash had been found. Instead he saw his own number, followed by 911. Grabbing his jacket, he ran.  
  
The drive home seemed to take an eternity. Twice, stopped at lights, he'd called the loft, but there had been no answer. He thumped the steering wheel in fury and tried in vain to calm himself. What had he been thinking to leave Blair alone? There was only one possible reason for Blair to page him like that – hadn't he said that Blair was a match for Lash's victims? With a desperate attempt at humour, he swore that if Blair just wanted him to bring home some milk or bread, he'd strangle the kid himself.  
  
Finally, Jim pulled up outside the apartment, double-parking and abandoning the truck with the engine still running. He ran up the stairs, drawing his gun as he went.  
  
The door was open, the frame splintered. He called Blair's name, but didn't need the silence to tell him that Blair wasn't there. The loft was trashed. Blair hadn't been taken easily, but he _had_ been taken.

***

There was still time. There had to be time. He kept telling himself that, even as he recognised that the window was closing fast. Lash would need to move Blair to the kill site. Then there was the ritual. Lash would probably take his time over that. Savour it… and Blair wouldn't make it easy for him. If Jim knew anything, it was that. He had to trust Blair to delay and confuse Lash as much as he could, to give Jim time to rescue him.  
  
The down he'd found in Susan Frasier's apartment pointed to the only clue that made sense – Lash was drowning his victims in a duck pond. There was only one duck pond in Cascade that was secluded enough to be used for a kill site. It was a desperate gamble, but if Lash had taken Blair anywhere else, there was no more time to find the place. The rest of Blair's life could be measured in minutes rather than hours.  
  
Alfred's Pond was in the middle of a disused waterfront area, earmarked for redevelopment. It was full of abandoned buildings, half of them in advanced stages of disrepair. Trying to find Lash in here would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. On cue, Jim heard Blair's voice: _Don't look. Listen._  
  
He frowned, concentrated for a moment, and his hearing suddenly intensified. For a split second, Jim heard _everything_ and then he was filtering out the background noise with an ease that never failed to surprise him, searching for that one voice and praying that it hadn't been silenced forever.  
  
“You really think you can be me? What's my…”  
  
“Come in, come in.” Simon's voice cut across his concentration and Jim yanked the earpiece out, letting it dangle from its wire. He listened again, focusing down hard, seeking range and direction as well as sound.  
  
“You can't be me. Only I think what I think, feel what I feel.” Blair's voice, furious and steady, and Jim pushed down the incredible surge of relief. He had what he needed now. Quickly, he made his way towards the derelict looking building that took up most of the horizon in front of him.

***

Lash was starting to lose it. Blair had been needling him for what seemed like forever, but might have been only a few minutes. He could still feel the effects of whatever it was Lash had dosed him with back at the loft, and it was making it hard for him to keep track of time, or to think coherently. Only the sheer terror of knowing exactly what Lash intended to do to him made it possible for Blair to focus at all.  
  
Now Lash was doing something with little vials of clear liquid, and Blair guessed that couldn't mean anything good. He wondered vaguely what happened when you pushed a whacked out serial killer beyond breaking point – would it be better or worse than allowing him to drug you and drown you in a duck pond? One way or another, it was going to be over soon, and Blair knew he'd rather go down fighting.  
  
“Why did you make mommy punish you?” Lash's face crumpled. He'd moved from confidence to anger to misery in only a few minutes. Blair pushed again. “You know, if you had just been a good little boy -- a good little Davey -- mama wouldn't have had to have scrubbed you in all those hot baths.”  
  
And that was the breaking point. Suddenly Lash was on top of him, and Blair gagged with revulsion. Lash was so damned strong – he hadn't had a chance against him back at the loft, and now, chained, he had even less ability to struggle. Ruthless fingers clamped over his nostrils and the foul tasting liquid splashed into his open mouth. He tried to spit out as much as he could, but plenty got in. His jaw was clamped shut and Lash began to massage his throat, forcing him to swallow.  
  
He thought he heard Jim's voice, shouting, but already he was starting to space out. Lash was gone and there were sounds – distant and fuzzy, but it sounded like something breaking. Lots of something breaking… and then shots. He couldn't have imagined that. He waited, his heart pounding, but his body heavy with drug induced lassitude, to find out his fate.  
  
“Chief? Blair?”  
  
Another dark outline, leaning over him, and Blair tried to shrink away before the realisation sank in that it was Jim this time. He tried to speak, but only a confused garble came out. Jim pulled at his manacled wrists, dragging him up enough to get an arm around his shoulders. “It's over, Chief. Lash is dead. It's over.”  
  
With a small moan, Blair turned his face into Jim's shoulder, breathing in the musty, sweaty scent of him, trying to reassure himself that this was real. He felt Jim's lips brush against his temple, heard the thudding of his heart and began to believe it was over. With a huge effort, he managed to lift his arms a little and tangle his fingers in the dark cloth of Jim's jacket.

***

“You okay there, Chief?” Jim carefully leaned Blair against the kitchen counter and went to wrestle the door shut. Simon had made good on his offer to get the door fixed, but it was a patch job, not nearly good enough to satisfy Jim's exacting requirements. He jammed a kitchen chair under the doorknob for extra security and turned back to his dishevelled and woozy lover. “Come on, it's bedtime, Junior.”  
  
But at the bottom of the stairs, Blair balked, shoving at Jim's steadying hands. “No. No, man, I need…” He wobbled a little and caught hold of Jim's jacket instead, brow furrowed in concentration. Then his face lit up. “Bathroom.”  
  
“Fine.” An arm around his shoulders, Jim steered Blair along the short hallway and into the bathroom. They came to a stop in front of the toilet. “Think you can manage this?”  
  
Privately, he doubted it. Blair was still very much under the influence of Lash's drug, but he'd insisted on being treated as an outpatient and Jim hadn't had the heart to overrule him. The doctors hadn't been keen on releasing him, either, but Jim's assurances that he'd been a medic in the army won them over.  
  
Now, he realised, Blair was laughing. “I wanna _shower_ , Jim. I peed at the hospital remember? In one of those little cups.”  
  
“How could I forget?” Jim grinned. “It's late Chief, why don't you save the shower till morning?”  
  
“Uh huh. Nope, no way.” Blair shook his head vehemently and nearly toppled over. Jim automatically steadied him again. “I _stink_ , man. I'm gonna have a shower.”  
  
He started to fumble with the shirt buttons, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. “C'mon, Jim. Help me out here.”  
  
Sighing, Jim helped him strip and sat him on the closed lid of the toilet. “Wait while the water heats up, okay?” He started the water running, then stripped off his own clothes.  
  
“Hey, good thinking.” Blair grinned lecherously. “We haven't had a shower together in ages.”  
  
“Don't get excited there, Casanova.” Jim checked the water and then hauled Blair to his feet. “I just don't want you slipping and cracking your head open.”  
  
“Like Humpty Dumpty.” Blair crowed. “Hey, did you know that was originally a riddle? 'Humpty Dumpty' actually means 'a short, clumsy person' and you were supposed to guess who he was.”  
  
“Sounds a lot like you, my little egghead.” He managed to get them both into the shower and held Blair squirming against his chest while he reached for the soap. “How about you let me do this, huh?”  
  
“Okay.” Blair subsided, resting his head against Jim's shoulder. “I'm kinda tired.”  
  
“No shit. It's after one in the morning.” Jim washed his back with the soapy washcloth, then turned him around. “Just lean back against me. I've got you, babe.”  
  
“Yeah. You got me.” Blair sighed, relaxing into him as Jim's arm slid around his waist. “I was so scared, Jim.”  
  
“I know. But you did all the right things.” Jim nuzzled his temple lightly, as he washed down Blair's body. “You kept your head, kept him talking. You gave me the time I needed to find you.”  
  
Blair didn't answer, and Jim saw that his eyes were closed. He turned them both so the water could sluice away the soapsuds and tightened his hold a little. “Time to get out, Chief.”  
  
Blair's eyes opened as he startled. “Yeah, okay. Gimme a hand here?”  
  
Jim got them both out of the shower without incident and wrapped Blair in a soft bathrobe before sitting him on the toilet again. He found a towel and wrapped it around his waist. “Ready for bed now?” He pulled Blair to his feet again.  
  
“Yeah… no.” Blair stumbled to the vanity. “Mouthwash. I can still taste that stuff he gave me.”  
  
Finally, Blair was ready, and Jim guided him through the loft and upstairs. He removed the bathrobe and settled Blair into bed, leaning over him to place a lingering kiss on his lips. When he drew back, Blair was smiling up at him rather dreamily – still feeling no pain at all, Jim thought. He stood, but Blair caught his wrist.  
  
“Jim?”  
  
He knew that coaxing tone, the sensual light in his lover's eyes, and hesitated. “You need to sleep. And you're not exactly compos mentis, you know.”  
  
“Man, you are _such_ a Boy Scout.” Blair laughed softly and his fingers tightened a little. “Fuck me, Jim.”  
  
He hadn't realised, until Blair made the moves on him, how much he needed this too; but the old instincts were still there, the ones that told him he couldn't take advantage of Blair's vulnerability, that reminded him how Blair had always had a tendency to use sex to escape unpleasant realities. And he looked down at his lover, who'd come so far since those early days, who was smiling up at him, relaxed and expectant and just _wanting_ him, and knew he couldn't refuse. He dropped his towel and saw Blair's smile widen.  
  
“Move over.” He slid under the covers and drew Blair into his arms. “Try not to fall asleep on me, okay?”  
  
“No chance, man.” Blair nuzzled his throat, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. “It's been _way_ too long.”  
  
“We've both been busy.” Jim ran his hand down Blair's side, enjoying the sensation of warm, damp skin under his fingers. It was a good thing Blair had insisted on a shower, he thought, since he'd been able to smell Lash's drug in his sweat earlier. Now there was just the scent of the herbal soap they used. As Blair's face turned up to his, Jim kissed him slowly, lingering over the play of tongue against tongue. Mouthwash… he jerked his head away as a thought occurred to him. “You had this planned, didn't you?”  
  
Blair grinned at the outraged tone in his voice. “And they call you a detective.”  
  
“Jesus.” He rolled Blair onto his back and kissed him thoroughly. Even doped to the eyeballs, Blair could out manoeuvre him with ease. “It's just as well I like you.”  
  
“Like me?” Blair slipped his hand between their bodies and grasped Jim's erection. “Guess you do at that.”  
  
God, he hadn't even noticed getting hard. He rubbed himself firmly against Blair's hip, his own hands blatantly exploring. “Guess it's not mutual, then. I'd better do something about that.”  
  
“I'm counting on it.” Blair smiled lazily, his eyelids drooping.  
  
He lay passively as Jim began to lay a trail of kisses down his throat and over his shoulder. It was probably taking all his willpower just to stay awake, Jim thought, but he didn't mind. There was a curious pleasure in being able to lavish all his attention on Blair without needing to control his own escalating arousal, as he did when Blair was actively involved in their lovemaking.  
  
It wasn't that Blair was unresponsive. He gasped as Jim flicked his tongue against a taut nipple, moaned appreciatively as Jim sucked the sensitive skin of his belly, but he never became more than half hard. Even when Jim abandoned subtlety in favour of long swipes of his tongue over Blair's balls and cock before taking the swollen shaft into his mouth and sucking enthusiastically, it didn't harden any further.  
  
“It's okay, Jim. Please, I'm just tired.” Insistent hands on Jim's shoulders drew him back up again. “No more, Jim. Just fuck me.”  
  
Jim took the lube that Blair had already in his hand. “You're sure? …okay, okay. Just a minute, okay, babe?”  
  
He quickly prepared Blair, not lingering over it, just making him ready, then pulled Blair's legs up around his hips and began to ease his cock inside. Blair shivered briefly, satisfaction evident on his face. At last he was completely buried inside his lover's body, and Jim settled more comfortably, propping himself on his elbows above Blair's torso. He rubbed his cheek against the rough stubble of Blair's jaw, feeling the soft patter of his pulse beneath the skin.  
  
Alive. God, Blair was alive and safe, and suddenly that seemed like an impossible miracle after the events earlier tonight. “I nearly lost you. God, Blair… I nearly _lost_ you.” Jim shuddered, pressing his face against Blair's throat.  
  
Gentle hands petted his hair. “It's okay, Jim. I'm here and everything's okay.” But Blair's voice was as unsteady as his own.  
  
Jim closed his eyes, focusing all his senses on the feel of Blair beneath and around him, the smell of his body. The sound of his voice, as he whispered shaky reassurances. With an effort, Jim pulled himself together, and willed the trembling to stop. He lifted his head to stare down at Blair's tired, pale face, eyelashes spiky with tears that hadn't been shed.  
  
He kissed the damp eyelids. “I love you. So much, Blair. I know I don't say it enough.”  
  
“I love you too, Jim.” Blair chuckled weakly, “but how about next time we don't wait until one of us has nearly been killed before we say it, huh?”  
  
“Mm.” He kissed Blair's lips briefly, teasingly. “I'm down with that.” Another kiss, deeper, lingering and messy, saying all the things they couldn't speak aloud. After a while, Jim began to move slowly, in long, deep strokes that built to an exquisite edge of pleasure without allowing release.  
  
Blair moaned and writhed beneath him, arching onto Jim's cock, begging silently for more, although he was still only half hard. His eyes were closed now, a tiny frown showing his concentration as he reached for that moment that would give him the relief he needed. His lips softened, parting as he panted for breath and he swallowed, his throat convulsing.  
  
Jim sucked Blair's adam's apple gently and the groan that resulted vibrated through his body. He shifted then, changing the angle so that the head of his cock butted against Blair's prostate at the height of the next thrust.  
  
“Fuck! God, Jim…” Blair opened his eyes, fixing them unerringly on Jim's and held his gaze as Jim repeated the movement and his body shuddered helplessly. One more thrust and it was over, the heavy cock pulsing between them as Blair's hips jerked erratically.  
  
When Blair collapsed limply beneath him, Jim withdrew carefully from his lover's body. He wasn't close to being satisfied, but Blair was probably out for the count now, and that was exactly what he'd wanted. He reached for the wipes and cleaned Blair up, then wrapped his hand around his cock, starting a quick rhythm that would take care of the situation without delay.  
  
“Hey.” Blair's drowsy voice startled Jim for a moment, and his movement faltered. “C'mere, babe.”  
  
He surrendered to Blair's sleepy insistence, sinking into his arms and allowing his lover's knowing touch to replace his own. Blair was so fucking good at this, teasing sensation out of him like it was sweet music. Jim's head began to swim as his balls twisted tighter and tighter and he thought vaguely that this must be how a guitar felt when Santana played it. Then a moist brush of tongue against his nipple startled him out of his distraction and he came like it was the end of the world.

***

“…And so, Cascade will sleep easy tonight because of you, Detective.” Blair laughed as he opened the newly repaired front door of the loft. “That Hass guy sure knows how to string a line of bullshit, man.”  
  
“Hey, show a little respect, Junior.” Jim gave him a little shove. “For the venerable institution of the Press, if not for me.”  
  
Blair turned to stare at him incredulously. “That's not what you were saying about journalists this morning.”  
  
“This morning there were a million damned messages on the answer phone from every hack in Washington State.” Jim finished locking the door – now repaired to his exacting standards – and hung his jacket on the hook.  
  
Blair glanced across at the violently flashing light on the phone base and grinned. “Looks like you're still a hot property, Jim. I'd have thought your fifteen minutes would be over by now.”  
  
Jim glowered at him as he went over to pick up. “Laugh it up, Chief. This means you get to cook dinner tonight while I take care of these.”  
  
“Whatever. Just let me know if Mom's left a message.” He'd tried to call her in the morning to let her know he was okay, but hadn't been able to reach her cell.  
  
As he chopped vegetables and meat for a stir-fry, Blair listened in casually. They'd woken late this morning, after the early news, to find that Jim's brother and father had already seen Haas' news segment – they'd been two of the dozen or so people who'd left messages on the answer phone. The others had all been journalists.  
  
Now, it looked like there were a whole lot more wanting to get Jim and Blair's story. He recognised some of the names. Wendy Hawthorne, for the third time, from True Crime – Blair snorted in amusement. He could really see Jim going for _that_ invitation. The woman from Channel Two News too – the one that had done a hatchet job on Burglary a couple of months back; and Don Hass wanting Jim to do an interview on his morning show. Blair shook his head, grinning as he started a pot of water heating on one of the burners for the rice.  
  
Then a more familiar voice came from the answer phone. “Blair, it's Eli. My God, I just heard the news – let me know that you're okay. And, Blair… I know I said the deadline for an answer was today, but in the circumstances, I'll hold off another day. I really hope you'll decide to accept. Call me.”  
  
In all the excitement, he'd actually forgotten about the expedition. Blair put the knife down slowly, almost wishing that the deadline had passed. It would have made things a lot easier if the decision was taken out of his hands. He looked up to see Jim watching him curiously and shrugged, mouthing 'later' before returning his attention to the food.  
  
By the time dinner was ready, Jim had checked all the messages and wiped most of them, only making a couple of calls himself. They ate without speaking until the plates were cleared and Blair leaned back in his chair with a yawn. “Man, I'm bushed. How about an early night?”  
  
“How about you tell me about the guy with the German accent?” Jim cocked an eyebrow at him, showing no sign of wanting to clear the table and get the dishes washed like he usually did.  
  
“Eli? You know him – well, okay, you've never actually met, but he's my thesis advisor, Eli Stoddard.” Blair swallowed nervously. Jim was watching attentively and merely nodded. “He's got funding for an expedition to Borneo to study the effects of modern civilization and what it's done to the indigenous people that live there. And… he asked me to go with him.”  
  
Jim's face didn't change from its expression of polite interest. “Congratulations. You going to do it?”  
  
“Well, I can't, can I? The Academy starts a month after my oral exam.” Blair shrugged, surprised Jim thought he'd even consider it.  
  
“There's always another class. You should go.”  
  
Oh god. He'd thought everything was cut and dried, and now this. “You really think so?” He could hear the note of hope in his voice and knew that Jim certainly would have heard it too. This was crazy – he couldn't just leave Jim.  
  
“Sure.” Jim shrugged and smiled. “There's a new class every couple of months. A few weeks in Borneo sounds like a blast.”  
  
“Jim, we're not talking about a few weeks here. I mean, this kind of study involves a major commitment of time. At least... a year.” Blair's heart sank as Jim's face went perfectly blank.  
  
Now he was really screwed. He'd spent the last week successfully not thinking about Eli's invitation, or allowing himself to think about what he might be able to do with that experience on his resumé. A protégé of Eli Stoddard's could look forward to a lot of doors opening that would be closed to other hopefuls. He wanted to be a cop – Jim's partner, but… a part of him was wondering if this wasn't something better he was being offered.  
  
Jim was still sitting, silent and unresponsive, and Blair cleared his throat nervously. His eyes scanned Blair's face for a moment. “You going to do it?”  
  
Unable to answer, Blair looked away.

***

Neither of them had slept well. Jim had lain awake for hours and, when he did finally sleep it had been restless. He woke several times during the night when Blair's rapid heartbeat had alerted him that his lover was having a nightmare. He'd been able to ease Blair back into a more relaxed state without waking him, but it had still taken its toll. Blair looked even more bleary-eyed and disoriented than he usually did in the mornings, and spoke only in monosyllables.  
  
Jim wiped the answer phone messages without bothering to listen to them and hoped that the journalists would get tired of bugging him soon. Maybe there'd be a bombing or a kidnapping today to give them something else to think about – in Cascade the chances of that happening were scarily high. They ate breakfast in a morose silence unbroken until Blair got up to have his shower.  
  
“So, are you going to call Stoddard?” Even to Jim his voice sounded brusque and angry.  
  
Blair shrugged. “I don't have to. I've got a meeting scheduled today to go over the final draft of my thesis.”  
  
Jim stood abruptly. “I'll get the dishes.”  
  
It was his day off, but at this rate, he was unlikely to be doing much relaxing. Well, there were enough chores to keep him busy – replacing some of the things that had been smashed when Blair had tried to fight off Lash. And there was that shelf he wanted to put up in the spare room… he almost slammed the dishes into the sink and started the hot water running before Blair had got his things together for the bathroom.  
  
He didn't look up as Blair passed him again, concentrating on the washing up and drying. He hung the towel to dry and poured himself another mug of coffee, going to the couch to drink it.  
  
Blair padded past a few minutes later, his hair dripping wet about his shoulders and wearing only a towel around his hips. Jim listened absently as he went upstairs to the bedroom and began dressing. There was none of the usual liveliness in his movements, and Jim sighed. When Blair came back down the stairs, Jim looked up.  
  
“Blair…”  
  
“Jim…”  
  
They both hesitated, then Blair smiled reluctantly. He came over and sat on the couch, watching Jim.  
  
“Blair, it's okay if you don't want to be a cop. I've told you that a million times.” Jim reached over and took hold of his hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “If being an anthropologist is really what you want, I'm a hundred percent behind you. I just didn't… didn't expect that you'd have to go away for such a long time.”  
  
Blair just about threw himself on top of Jim, arms going around his neck and holding his head fast as Blair kissed him. “Jim… I _do_ want to be your partner, okay? It's just… it's an incredible offer Eli's made and I wouldn't be human if I didn't at least think about what it could mean for me.”  
  
“So you're not going to go?” He felt Blair's heart skip a beat and saw the confusion in his eyes. “Tell me what's going on, Blair.”  
  
“I just… this case… Lash…” Blair shivered, shaking his head. “It was really _hard_ , Jim. Seeing Susan Frasier's body like that, and hearing what Lash's parents did to him…”  
  
“Being kidnapped and almost murdered by him?” Jim drew him against his side and laid his face against the damp curls. “You think that didn't scare the hell out of me?”  
  
“Yeah. That wasn't exactly fun, but…” he looked up at Jim beseechingly. “You know what? That wasn't the worst part of it. I've been in tough places before, but the stuff we found out about Lash? That brought a whole lot of shit back for me, Jim. Things I thought I'd gotten past. And right now, I just feel like I need some space.”  
  
A whole years worth of space? Jim pushed the thought aside. “If you want to go on this expedition then you should go. I've managed fine with the senses for years. There's no reason why I can't keep on managing them.”  
  
“Thanks, Jim. It means a lot that you're willing to… to see my side of things.” Blair sounded and looked miserable. “I just… I don't know. I want to go, but I don't, you know?”  
  
He kissed Blair slowly and very thoroughly. “Whatever you decide, Chief. It's your life.”

***

“Are you upset?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Upset didn't begin to cover what he was feeling right now, but how could he tell Blair that? He'd said it was okay and he couldn't even pretend to himself he hadn't expected this – in the same kind of way that he expected all his worst nightmares to come true some day.  
  
Blair was watching him, his face calm but wary. He was too smart, and he knew Jim too well. “Look, if you don't want me to go…”  
  
“I didn't say that,” Jim interrupted, too quickly. He couldn't ask Blair to back out now. Couldn't. Couldn't ask.  
  
 _“Don't go, Mom.” “I have to Jimmy. I have to go.” “Then let me come too.” “Jimmy, honey, I could take you, but I can't take Stevie. He's too little. You wouldn't want to leave him alone, now, would you?” “…no…” “You'll look after him for me won't you, Jimmy? Promise?” “I promise, Mom.”_  
  
“Jim?” Blair was looking worried now and Jim shook off the memory. He'd seen his mother again, of course, though not often, and eventually the visits just stopped happening, for no obvious reason. This wasn't the same situation. Blair wasn't abandoning him, just going away for a while.  
  
“A year's a long time, that's all. If you want to go, you should, but it's just…” he struggled to find the words and failed. “It's just a long time.”  
  
“I know.” Blair's face went sombre for a moment, but the excitement was too intense to keep down for very long. “I guess it's different for me, because I've got a _reason_ and you… Jim, honestly, if you don't want me to go just tell me.”  
  
Jim looked his lover in the eyes and told him the lie he wanted to hear. “I want you to go.”  
  
Blair smiled in obvious relief. “I must be out of my mind. I've got four days to get my thesis revised and printed, and a week after that I've got the defence. Then four days later we fly out. I'm lucky the printer and the examining committee were already fast tracked because Eli's going on the expedition, otherwise I'd never be able to do it.”  
  
“Yeah. Lucky.” Jim pushed himself up out of the chair and headed for the kitchen. “I guess that means I'm cooking dinner for the next two weeks. You'd better go see Mike and make sure you have all your shots.”  
  
“I'll do that tomorrow.” Blair opened his laptop and started typing again. “Lucky I don't need a visa; I'm not sure there'd be time to get one.”  
  
“Okay.” He opened the knife drawer with unnecessary violence. “I'll let Simon know you're withdrawing from the Academy intake.”  
  
Blair looked up at him, his face suddenly stricken. “Oh, damn, I hadn't thought of that. Maybe I should…”  
  
“I'll tell him. You've got enough to do.” Jim forced a smile. “It'll be fine. He'll understand it was just too good an opportunity to pass over.”

***

Two weeks. Not a hell of a long time to adjust to the idea that your lover was abandoning you for a year to go talk to a bunch of head-hunters in a jungle on the other side of the world.  
  
Blair had been so busy, making last minute adjustments to his thesis before handing it over to the printers, and then preparing for the oral exam, that Jim had hardly seen him except as a blur as he headed out the door, or an exhausted, snoring lump under the covers if he woke during the night. It was probably just as well – try as hard as he could, it was impossible for Jim to work up any enthusiasm, and Blair would certainly have noticed if he hadn't been completely absorbed in his work.  
  
And now the two weeks were almost over, and Blair was in front of the examining committee just the other side of the heavy oak door that Jim had been staring at for nearly two hours. It should be over soon, according to what Blair had told him. He'd listened for a while, but was only able to understand about one word in three – the anthro-jargon was hard enough to understand written down, but spoken it was like a completely different language. Now he was listening not to the words, but to the tone of Blair's voice, and his heartbeat; both a little edgy, but with excitement and nerves, not panicked racing. Blair was confident, and Jim trusted him to know how well he was doing.  
  
Finally, he heard Blair thanking the committee members by name. Stoddard, as his thesis advisor, was the chair of the committee and Jim had heard his voice with its distinctive accent frequently over the last two hours. The door opened and Blair walked out, pale but outwardly calm. His face broke into a huge grin when he saw Jim waiting.  
  
Jim straightened from where he was leaning against the wall. “Well?”  
  
“I should know in a few minutes.” He walked up to Jim and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist, leaning against him with a tired sigh. “Man, I could sleep for a week.”  
  
“Then you'd miss your flight.” Jim kissed the top of his head and rested his cheek against the dark curls. There wasn't going to be much opportunity just to spend time with Blair. The next few days were going to be just as frantic as the last two weeks had been.  
  
Soon enough the door opened again, and Blair released Jim but didn't move away. The man who came out was the same one Jim had seen a few weeks back; the one he'd seen kiss Blair on the cheek. He was grinning almost as widely as Blair had been.  
  
They hugged, and then the older man drew back. “Congratulations, Blair. You passed with flying colours.”  
  
The moment he spoke, Jim knew who he was and it took a considerable effort to dredge up a polite smile as Blair turned back to him. Of _course_ this would be the man Blair was going to spend the next year with.  
  
“Jim, you haven't met Eli yet. Eli, this is Jim.”  
  
Stoddard held out his hand. “Blair has told me so much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last. You should be very proud of this young man. He has a brilliant future ahead of him.”  
  
Jim nodded awkwardly. To his, admittedly prejudiced, ear Stoddard's remarks sounded like he thought of Jim as some kind of father figure to Blair. His hackles rose instantly – the guy was only a _few_ years younger than him, but he managed to mutter “Good to meet you” and saw amusement in Stoddard's eyes.  
  
The thought of Blair heading off into the jungle with this guy made his jaw clench. He was relatively young – about the age Jim had been when he first met Blair – definitely good looking, and Blair obviously admired him. The alarm bells were practically deafening; and he couldn't say a damned thing.  
  
Blair was talking to what looked like another faculty member and too distracted to notice, Jim thought. He nodded politely to Stoddard and went over to interrupt what seemed set to be a lengthy conversation. “Chief, we'd better be going. There's still a lot to do before you take off.”  
  
“Oh, yeah.” Blair shook hands with the man, and a woman wearing a vaguely tweed-patterned suit, then hugged Stoddard again. “Eli, I'll see you Monday.”  
  
“Don't be late.” Stoddard grinned. “Even for you, I cannot hold the plane.”  
  
“I'll be there.” Blair followed Jim, almost bouncing with energy, but by the time they reached the truck, he was starting to droop. “I'm done, man. I am _so_ looking forward to putting in some serious mattress time.”

***

Blair rolled over, pulling the covers over his head with a soft groan. There was way too much light coming in, so that meant either he'd slept for the best part of a day, or only a few hours. Either way, he felt like shit. Unfortunately, he was also well and truly awake.  
  
Gradually, he became aware of people – _people_ , plural, not just Jim – moving around downstairs. They were trying to be quiet, but whatever it was they were doing, it obviously required furniture being shifted and doors being opened and closed. He lay still, wondering what the hell was going on. He heard someone start up the stairs and his heart started tap dancing against his ribs. It couldn't be Lash, but…  
  
“Sandburg, I know you're awake.” Jim's voice, pitched low, still carried clearly to him and Blair relaxed with a sigh.  
  
The edge of the bed dipped and Blair finally emerged from under the comforter. Jim held out a steaming mug with a patient smile. “Feeling better?”  
  
He took a cautious sip. Mm, the good stuff. “Do I _look_ like I'm feeling better?”  
  
“You look like you went ten rounds with Mike Tyson.” Jim tousled his hair, which Blair was pretty sure wasn't going to need much help in the tousling department. “Except that you seem to have both ears still intact.”  
  
He grunted and took another mouthful of coffee. “So what time is it?”  
  
Jim's gaze drifted from his face to the clock on the nightstand. Blair rolled his eyes and turned his head to look. Okay, so about five hours sleep, then. Jesus. He scrubbed at his eyes and yawned. “What's going on down there?”  
  
“Finished with the coffee?” Jim took the mug off him and Blair realised that somehow he'd drunk it all without even noticing. “Good. Now put your bathrobe on, and go have a shower. You don't want to be late for your own graduation party.”  
  
Suddenly, he felt wide-awake. “You're throwing a party for me?”  
  
“Well, I figured since you weren't going to be here for the actual graduation…” Jim shrugged casually, but his eyes were warm. “You deserve it, Blair. And I figured this way everyone would get a chance to see you before you left.”  
  
“You're a real piece of work. You know that, don't you, Ellison?” He smiled as Jim leaned towards him, lips parting expectantly. “Um, Jim? We've got an audience.”  
  
“Yeah. Better be quiet.” And then Jim was kissing him, pushing him back into the pillows, hands sliding into his hair and holding him steady.  
  
Blair moaned into Jim's mouth as his lover's body came down across his, enjoying the weight pressing him down. Unable to resist, he slid one hand around the back of Jim's head and pulled him closer, closing his eyes the better to concentrate on the feel of Jim's lips against his own.  
  
Too soon, he heard a voice calling his name and Jim's, and it was a measure of his distraction that it was only after Jim had released him that Blair recognised the voice. “Mom? Come up.”  
  
He knew how they must look. Jim was flushed and grinning and his own lips felt swollen and tender, but Naomi was the last person on earth to be bothered by the obvious signs that they'd been making out.  
  
Her head appeared above the edge of the stairs, her eyes dancing. “Are you sure about that, sweetie?”  
  
Jim half turned towards her. “He needs someone to drag him out of bed anyway, Naomi.” He turned back to Blair, his face deliberately serious. “Ten minutes, and then I'm bringing a bucket of cold water.”  
  
“Like you'd throw it over your own bed.” Blair pulled himself upright again, carefully hitching up the covers to mid chest. “Mom, what are you doing here?”  
  
“Well, I could hardly miss your graduation party, Blair.” Naomi smiled at Jim as he passed, heading downstairs. “Jim called me a week ago to tell me the news.” She perched on the edge of the bed, where Jim had been. “This trip to Borneo sounds so exciting.”  
  
“Yeah, it is. I still can't believe that Eli asked me to go.” He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. “It's an incredible privilege.”  
  
“But are you sure about this, Blair?” She hesitated, something Naomi rarely did, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You'd tell me if there were any problems – between you and Jim, I mean…”  
  
“No, there's no problem.” He blinked, wondering where _that_ had come from.  
  
Naomi smiled, not looking at all convinced. “It just seems like a long time to be apart.”  
  
“Well, yeah, it is.” He'd been trying not to think about that too much. “I thought you'd be pleased I'm putting off the Academy.”  
  
She refused the bait. “Well, you know I've never been happy about the idea of you being a cop, but Jim's a good man, and _he's_ a cop. I just don't want to see you making a mistake that could jeopardise your relationship with Jim.”  
  
It took a moment to realise she was talking about the expedition again, not the Academy. “It'll be tough, sure, but it's only a year. It'll go by fast.”  
  
She smiled and kissed him again. “I'm so proud of you, Blair. Now, hurry up and get ready. It's almost time for the guests to start arriving.”

***

It was one of the weirdest parties Blair had ever been to, and that included the ones Naomi's friends used to throw to celebrate things like 420 Day and Che Guevara's birthday. Yet somehow, it worked. He watched with an anthropologist's eye, as detectives from Major Crime rubbed shoulders with his student friends, and Jim's father and brother did the “in-law” thing with Naomi, as though they saw each other all the time instead of the occasional Christmas and Thanksgiving.  
  
For once, he was happy to stand on the sidelines with Jim most of the time and watch everyone enjoying themselves. Just one beer had started a mild buzz – due no doubt to how tired he was – and he didn't have the energy or the coordination to try to dance when someone fired up the stereo. He did bounce a little in place and grin up at Jim when the music suddenly changed to his didgeridoo CD and the rhythm of the dancers faltered before taking up the new challenge.  
  
Later, he caught a whiff of smoke coming in from the balcony – not the kind of smoke Jim would approve of either – and made his way over there. The doors were open and Steven Ellison, Henri Brown and a couple of fellow TA's were out there passing around a joint.  
  
“Blair, hey, how's it going?” H held out the joint, but Blair shook his head.  
  
“You better not let Simon smell that, man.” He craned his neck looking back into the room, but didn't see Simon's tall figure anywhere.  
  
“He's gone, Hairboy.” H grinned. “Had to take Daryl home because he's leaving on some trip early tomorrow.”  
  
“Then you'd better not let Jim smell it.” Blair laughed as both H and Steven's expressions turned suddenly worried.  
  
“Too late.” A warm hand came down lightly on his shoulder and the TA's – Roger and Hayley – jumped nervously. “Cascade PD. I'm going to have to ask you to hand that over, thanks.”  
  
Blair knew that tone of Jim's voice too well, so it didn't surprise him when Jim lifted the joint to his lips and took a brief puff, but Steven's face was a study in outrage. “Since when did you…” he stopped as everyone else burst out laughing.  
  
“There's still plenty you don't know about me, little brother.” He passed the joint back to Hayley and went inside. Blair followed grinning. He knew that Jim had barely taken in any of the fragrant smoke, wouldn't risk it the way his senses could still occasionally overload, but the looks on their faces had been priceless.  
  
By now the room wasn't quite so crowded as it had been and since it was a Friday night, people were probably drifting off to parties where they were more likely to get either totally drunk or laid. William Ellison was the next to leave – at least, the next that Blair actually saw. He paused at Blair's side to wish him luck on his trip and then cleared his throat awkwardly.  
  
“Uh, Blair, this expedition… there isn't any other reason why you wanted to… I mean… you and Jimmy…” he coughed discreetly into his hand. “Because Jimmy… well, he wouldn't tell me if there was anything…”  
  
Blank incomprehension gave way to understanding and Blair smiled, albeit a little uncomfortably. Did everyone think he and Jim were breaking up? “No, honestly, Bill. Everything's fine. It was just too good an opportunity to let go.”  
  
“Ah. I hope it goes well.” The thin mouth – so like Jim's – smiled again. “I'll look forward to hearing all about it from Jimmy. You will be writing, I presume?”  
  
“Yes, as much as I can.” Blair shrugged. “It's not going to be too easy to get mail out once we're in the jungle. There's a supply run every month, I think.”  
  
“Well… goodbye, then.” He held out his hand and when Blair shook it politely, pulled him into a quick, awkward hug and patted him on the back.  
  
“Thanks, Bill.” Now it was Blair's turn to clear his throat. The old man wasn't exactly given to displays of affection in private, let alone in front of a room full of guests. “I'll see you when I get back.”  
  
He closed the door behind Ellison Snr and went in search of his lover.  
  
“Does _everyone_ think we're splitting up?” He saw Jim blink at his abrupt question and then the shutters came down.  
  
“I'd say about half and half. Why?”  
  
“Well, first Naomi asked me if anything was wrong between us, and now your father.” He caught hold of Jim's forearm, shaking it a little. “Jim, everything _is_ okay, isn't it?”  
  
Jim smiled warmly down at him, suddenly relaxed again. “Everything's fine, Blair. You think we can encourage these bozos to leave soon? I've got a hot date for the night.”

***

The closer it got to Monday morning, the more Blair's guts got twisted into knots. Until he'd completed the defence of his thesis he'd been so focused on that he hadn't had really time to think about what it would mean to leave Jim, his home – his whole _life_ in Cascade – for an entire year. Over the weekend he was still busy, but he'd had plenty of time to think as well. Especially when Jim took him to bed every night and made slow, devastating love to him, handling him as though he was some kind of precious object to be treasured.  
  
And now it was time to go, and it was too _soon_. Blair stood looking down at his backpack, crammed with clothes and books and the medical supplies that Jim had insisted he needed, even though there was a separate store of medicines that one of the expedition members had charge of. Beside it was the smaller backpack containing his passport and wallet and the things he'd need on the flight.  
  
He took a deep breath and turned to look around the loft – his home for longer than any other place he'd ever lived at any time in his life – and at Jim. Who was looking tired; more tired than he'd been since his sentinel abilities had come on line and nearly driven him crazy.  
  
“Jim…”  
  
“We'd better get going.” Jim went to pass him, to get his keys from the table beside the door, but Blair stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“I've called a cab. I don't want you to come to the airport.” He saw Jim flinch and heard his sharp intake of breath. “Please… I just can't... if you come, I'm gonna lose it in front of everybody.”  
  
Jim sighed and he was enveloped in a warm, comforting hug. He felt lips brush against the top of his head and had to choke back a sob. “If that's what you want, Chief.”  
  
He didn't know any more _what_ he wanted. “Tell me not to go. If you tell me not to go, I won't.” He twisted the front of Jim's shirt in his fists and shook him insistently. “Go on, Jim. Tell me. _Tell_ me.”  
  
Jim's hands shifted to his shoulder and pushed him away slightly. “You made the right choice. You should go.”  
  
“But…” The sound of a car horn tooting outside made him recoil.  
  
He watched numbly as Jim went over to the glass doors and out onto the balcony and called out to the cabbie below. “He'll be down in a minute.”  
  
Jim came back in, closing the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment to stare at Blair. “I know it's hard. I don't want you to go either, but you made a choice and it was a good one.”  
  
“But…”  
  
Jim came over and stood close enough that they were almost touching. “You'll go. You'll have a great time, and I'll be here when you get back.”  
  
Blair nodded. For once in his life words failed him. Jim smiled and took his face between his hands and kissed him with a deep, passionate intensity that left Blair weak at the knees. Then he pulled away again and went to pick up Blair's backpack, slinging it easily over one shoulder. Blair picked up the smaller bag and followed him out the door.  
  
They went down the stairs, easier to keep moving than to stand in that creaking little box as it descended. Out on the street the cabbie got out to open the trunk and Jim laid the backpack inside. He held out his hand for the smaller pack and put that in too, then handed the cabbie a couple of twenties.  
  
“Jim…” He stopped as Jim grabbed the front of his light jacket and pulled him into a quick, hard hug. “I'll be back. I promise.”  
  
A small nod, and Jim cupped his face between his hands again and bent to place a quick kiss on his lips. “The cab's waiting. Go.”  
  
Jim had never done that before, not out on the street. A few people were watching them curiously and somehow that helped. He wasn't going to break down in front of a bunch of strangers. He clambered into the back seat and Jim closed the door.  
  
The cabbie took off immediately. “You said the airport, right?”  
  
Dazed, Blair nodded. “Yeah, the airport.” He looked out the rear window, but Jim had already gone back inside.

***

The first postcard arrived ten days later, at the station. Blair had said he'd send the mail there so Jim didn't have to wait until he got home. He studied it as he took off his sport jacket and slung it over the back of his chair – a brightly coloured scrap of card that he somehow found vaguely menacing. The last ten days hadn't been among the best in his life and everything, right now, was being viewed with mild suspicion.

 

Seated at his desk, Jim could now see the photo the right way up. Some kind of temple, red walls, green tiled roof, and surrounded by a low wall with dragons cavorting through what looked like either clouds or waves.  
  
He took a deep breath and flipped it over.

 

 

“Yeah, twenty-one hours without sleep'll do it to you.” He slipped the card into his top drawer and reached for the stack of files overflowing his inbox. Tonight he could take it home, examine it properly. Maybe get some hint of Blair's scent.  
  
It was another four days before the letter arrived, postmarked in Kuching only a day later than the postcard. Jim made a mental note that the mail in Malaysia was obviously unreliable – he'd sweated out the last two days only because he knew it was already far too late to try to contact Blair by phone.  
  
As he'd expected, there was little more for Blair to say, just comments about the flight and a promise to write again before the team left for Batang Ai. Jim already knew the team had stayed in Kuching for a week while local details were sorted out and Stoddard gave a series of lectures at the university. After they left, he'd be lucky to get a letter from Blair more than once a month.

***

 

Blair set his pen aside and stretched, enjoying the cooler air now that the evening breeze off the man-made lake had picked up. A month ago he would have said there was no such thing as too much heat. Now he was prepared to reserve his opinion. Probably in another eleven months, he'd be glad to get back to Cascade's cooler climate.  
  
He folded the sheet into thirds and tucked it away with the others in the back of his journal. He'd taken to writing something for Jim each day, even if only a few lines. When they sent back their monthly reports, their personal mail would go too and he didn't want to be writing some hurried and pointless note at the last minute.  
  
Also in the back of his journal, tucked into a small pocket he'd taped to the inside cover, was a photo of him and Jim. After a moment's hesitation, Blair took it out and studied it, not for the first time – it was already getting ragged around the edges. Naomi had snapped it one summer afternoon when they'd taken her to the Farmer's Market.  
  
She'd gone on ahead to check out some organic wines. Blair smiled, remembering how he'd started an impromptu lesson in sensory awareness, telling Jim to smell the roses he'd seen two aisles over. He and Jim had been walking so close together that their arms brushed together occasionally and at one point, unconsciously, he'd clasped Jim's hand for no more than a few seconds. In the photo Jim was looking over his head into the distance. Both of them had been completely unaware of Naomi taking the photo.  
  
Blair sighed and shook his head, wishing Jim was here with him, and then put the photo away again. He'd gotten into the habit of only allowing himself to think of Jim during this daily ritual – if he hadn't, he'd be thinking about him all the time. He slid the journal and pen into the small backpack and rose stiffly from his cross-legged position.  
  
The shadows were lengthening across the lake in front of him and it would soon be dark. Behind him in the _ruai_ , the communal area where he and the rest of the team were sleeping, the Iban women were cooking the evening meal – fish and rice, mostly, but in their honour a couple of chickens had been killed and the meat cooked by roasting it in traditional style – placed in a bamboo stem and suspended over the fire.  
  
He went into the smoky interior, grinning at the uproarious laughter, which indicated that the others had already made serious inroads into the night's ration of rice wine.  
  
***  
  
“Sir, I've found a connection between…” Jim stopped as he registered the presence of Simon's visitor. “Sorry, I'll tell you later.”  
  
“No, Jim, come in. This is about the Matherson case?” Simon nodded towards the sharply dressed man – Jim thought he'd seen him before, maybe in court. “Assistant District Attorney Ferrante is our liaison with the DA's office on this. Come on in.”  
  
Jim came into the office, closing the door behind him. He held out his hand and Ferrante shook it. “Jim Ellison.”  
  
“Greg Ferrante.” The ADA nodded briskly and smiled past him at Simon. “I've heard a lot about you, Detective Ellison.”  
  
Simon smiled sardonically. “Well, in spite of what you've heard, he's the best man I've got.”  
  
“Thanks, Simon.” Jim laid the file he was holding on his captain's desk. “It seems our friend Matherson has been climbing into bed with some very interesting people.” He smiled perfunctorily at Ferrante. “I'm sure you know about the Myong family…”  
  
“The Kusadae?” Ferrante's eyebrows shot up. “I would have thought they were out of his league.”  
  
“I agree, Jim.” Simon leaned back in his chair. “Matherson's a small time hood. What would the Korean mafia want with someone like him?”  
  
“That's what I thought at first, but,” Jim tapped the still closed file folder, “apparently his younger sister recently married one of the Salazars – Domenico Salazar. So, suddenly, Matherson's a big player. He's found a supplier from out of state and he's got the connections to move one hell of a lot of smack.”  
  
“Well…” Ferrante looked thoughtful. “That's good work, Detective.”  
  
“There's not enough evidence yet, but now that I know where to look, I think we'll have this case wrapped up pretty soon.”  
  
“Keep me advised. I'm sure DA Sanchez will be pleased to hear about this.” Ferrante nodded to Jim and Simon. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”  
  
After he'd left, Simon turned his attention to Jim, his smile fading. “Are you okay, Jim? You don't look so good.”  
  
“Why wouldn't I be?” Jim shrugged casually. Simon didn't need to know about the occasional sentinel weirdnesses that had been happening lately. “I could use some help on this case, though. Is Brown available?”  
  
“I can take him off the Wernecke case. It's pretty much a done deal, so Rafe and Jaworski should be able to handle it from here.” Simon gestured him to a seat. “How's Sandburg doing?”  
  
Jim dropped tiredly into a chair. “From his last letter, it sounds like he's having a ball. Eating weird food, learning tribal dances. Communing with monkeys for all I know.”  
  
Simon chuckled. “And you're not having any…” he waved his hand vaguely in the air, uncomfortable as always with Jim's sentinel abilities.  
  
“Nothing I can't handle.”  
  
“And what about the things you _can_ handle?” Simon spoke impatiently. “Jim, if there's a problem…”  
  
“Simon, it's nothing, okay?” Jim shifted restlessly. “Believe me, you don't want to know about every little twitch in my senses. It's normal. I'm fine.”  
  
“All right.” Simon sighed resignedly. “Get back to work.”  
  
Jim smiled ironically. “Thank you, sir.” He put out his hand to pick up the file, but it slipped through his fingers as though they weren't even there and fell to the floor. Jim frowned, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, but felt… nothing.  
  
Luckily, Simon had turned away to fiddle with his coffee maker and hadn't seen. Jim bet to retrieve the file and, more by sight than feel, managed to pick up the file. He left the office hurriedly and went to sit at his desk. This wasn't the first time one of his senses had cut out on him. Last night he literally hadn't been able to taste any of the pasta he'd made for dinner. A couple of days before that, he'd gone completely deaf for nearly an hour before his hearing had returned as abruptly as it had disappeared.  
  
He'd thought about going to the hospital, but his gut feeling was that whatever was causing the problem, the doctors wouldn't be able to find anything physical. Blair would say… he deliberately shut down that thought. Thinking about Blair wasn't going to help with this. If anything, it made things worse. Right now, it was better just to close off that part of his life as much as possible.

***

 

“Blair.” Eli slid down into the seat beside him with a smile. “Still working? You should relax, my boy.”  
  
Blair folded away the note and slipped it into his journal. “I'm just writing a letter.” He wiped his hand across his face, and leaned back, enjoying the breeze that the longboat stirred up and very grateful that theirs was one of the boats with a canopy.  
  
“Ah. Telling Jim all about your adventures?” Eli nodded. “I wanted to tell you how impressed I am with your work. I knew you'd be a great addition to the team.”  
  
“Thanks, Eli.” Blair felt his cheeks grow even hotter than they already were. “I'm having a great time.”  
  
“Are you?” The look Eli turned on him was speculative. “You seem to be… holding back a little. Not in your work – not at all. But you don't take part in the more… shall we say, recreational activities of the team.”  
  
He didn't pretend to misunderstand what Eli was saying, but glanced over to where Toby and Elise had their heads close together and were almost certainly not talking about work. Both were married, though not to each other. Most of the team hadn't paired off as they had, but were happily sleeping around. Blair wasn't sure if Eli was among them – or hadn't been until now.  
  
Eli shrugged, following his gaze. “Twelve months is a long time, and it's understood that what happens on expedition stays on expedition. Mitchell, for example, would never look at a man back in Cascade, but on expedition he takes the opportunity to… explore a different side of himself.”  
  
“I don't have a problem with that. But I'm not planning on joining in.”  
  
“But you _are_ planning on remaining celibate the entire twelve months?” Eli chuckled.  
  
Put like that, it sounded pretty insane, but Blair shrugged. “Jim and I… it's just the way we are. We don't share.”  
  
“So Jim is sitting faithfully at home?” Eli's tone was simply enquiring. “Are you sure about that? You're very innocent, my dear boy.”  
  
“Innocent?” He laughed, genuinely amused. Things had changed a lot since his early years at Rainier. Now, there was nobody around who remembered the court case that had made him something of a pariah to his then classmates. “Believe me, Eli, innocent is the last word you should use to describe me. I just know what I've got and I'm not going to risk it for a few meaningless fucks.”  
  
Eli brushed his fingertips along Blair's arm, and the delicate sensation set his nerve endings on fire. His cock swelled in anticipation of something better than his own right hand. “Are you sure, Blair? There's no reason why Jim should ever know.”  
  
“ _I'd_ know.” He moved his arm away. “Sorry, Eli.”  
  
“Ah, well… if you should change your mind…” Eli smiled as he rose from the low seat.  
  
“I know where you are.” Blair grinned and opened his journal, taking out Jim's letter and his pen. 

***

“Detective Ellison! Wait up!”  
  
Jim stopped in the hallway and turned. ADA Ferrante was walking rapidly towards him, a large file folder clutched under one arm. He smiled politely at the other man. “Can I help you?”  
  
“Thanks.” Ferrante grinned engagingly. “I just wanted to know how the Matherson case is going. Are we any nearer an arrest?”  
  
He shook his head, frustrated. “Nope. Someone must have been giving our guy a few lessons in how to work with the big guys. We've got him under twenty-four hour surveillance, but so far there's nothing we can use to tie him to either the Salazars or the Myong cartel.”  
  
If only he could reliably use his sentinel abilities the way he had when Blair had been working with him, maybe they could get something. But over the last three months his abilities had been shutting down at more and more frequent intervals. It could have been worse – he wasn't experiencing the kind of sensory spikes that had made his life miserable in the past. Still, he'd gotten used to having these abilities, had taken them for granted almost, and now that they were becoming unreliable, he really missed being able to call on them at will.  
  
“Well, if you think there's anything I can do to help…” Ferrante shrugged.  
  
Jim hesitated. His track record with ADAs wasn't the greatest, but this guy seemed okay. “If there's any chance you can get a warrant for a phone tap…”  
  
Ferrante frowned. “What have you got? I'll need to convince the judge there's reasonable cause.”  
  
“The file's on my desk.” He nodded towards the door to Major Crime's bullpen. “Let's see if you think we've got enough.”  
  
A couple of minutes later they were leaning over his desk together, flipping though the file. Ferrante frowned. “I don't know… maybe if I got Perlman, or Crossley…” he straightened, clapped Jim on the shoulder. “Look, leave it with me and I'll see what I can do. E-mail the files to my office.”  
  
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”  
  
“No problem, Jim.” Ferrante smiled. “Anything I can do to help. Give me a call around five.”

***

It was five days before the phone tap yielded any useful results. Even then, they might have missed it if Brown hadn't picked up on a seemingly innocuous call to Matherson's dentist.  
  
“Hold on.” Brown stopped the tape. “Didn't Matherson make an appointment for two-thirty yesterday?”  
  
“Yeah, he did.” Jim shrugged, “maybe he's got a lot of dental work needs doing.”  
  
“But, at two thirty yesterday, he was at the racecourse.”  
  
Jim met his speculative gaze. “Maybe he forgot.”  
  
“Or maybe it's a signal and he doesn't need a dentist at all.” Brown grinned suddenly. “What other appointments has he made recently?”  
  
They searched back through the transcripts and found two doctors appointments – with different doctors – one with a manicurist and three masseuses. Over the last five days. It wasn't difficult to check that he hadn't turned up to a single one of the appointments.  
  
“So now we just need to figure out what the signals mean, sir.” Jim leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. It was the break in the case they'd been looking for.  
  
Simon nodded. “Good work, both of you. You're following up on the numbers he called?”  
  
Brown nodded. “Three of them were to cells, all of them clones. One of the landlines belongs to an associate of the Myong family. We're still waiting on information about the others.”  
  
“I'll let Ferrante know. He's taking a real close interest in this case.” Simon looked at Jim enquiringly. “Any idea why, Jim?”  
  
Brown sniggered quietly, but stopped at a glare from Jim. “No, sir. I have no idea why.”

***

The phone rang just as Jim was pulling on his leather jacket. He shrugged it on with an exasperated sigh and turned back to his desk to answer it.  
  
“Jim, it's Greg Ferrante. I just wanted to congratulate you on your progress with the case.”  
  
“Thanks. It's looking like we'll have enough evidence for some arrests in a couple of days.” Jim pulled his wallet out of his pants and put it in the jacket pocket instead. He'd probably get some drive through on the way home and it always paid to be prepared. “I'll let you know…”  
  
“Well actually, Jim, I was hoping we could talk about this.” Ferrante paused to speak to someone and then said, “I'm pretty busy, but maybe we could meet?”  
  
“Sure. When?”  
  
“Tonight? Around seven?” Jim heard the sound of papers rustling. “Look, how about I buy you dinner? I need to eat, and I'm sure you've been burning the candle at both ends. Let me make it up to you.”  
  
In light of Simon's remark the other day, he ought to be wary, but after a momentary hesitation, Jim agreed.  
  
“Great. I'll see you at Fabio's. Seven. Don't be late, I'm a busy man.” Ferrante chuckled and hung up before Jim could change his mind.  
  
Fabio's definitely wasn't the kind of restaurant that two men went to for a business meeting. And it wasn't the kind of restaurant that Jim could wear his working clothes to. He supposed he could always call back and cancel, but… just because Ferrante had made his intentions crystal clear, that didn't mean he was going to get what he obviously wanted.  
  
At five minutes after seven, Jim walked into Fabio's in his best navy blue suit with a crisp white shirt and grey and navy striped tie. Ferrante hadn't arrived, but Jim was shown to their table. The ADA breezed in a few minutes later and smiled confidently at Jim.  
  
“I thought I'd let you… absorb the atmosphere for a while. Give you a chance to leave if you wanted to.” Ferrante signalled the waiter and ordered a bottle of expensive wine. “Have you been here before?”  
  
“Not for a long time.” Jim kept his face impassive.  
  
“Ah. You've been out of the action?” He sipped his wine and smiled appreciatively. “What happened?”  
  
Jim shrugged, reluctant to talk about Blair, half wishing he'd never come here. “I've been busy.”  
  
“Well, I'm glad you found time to join me.” Ferrante saluted him ironically with his wine glass.  
  
“Look, Mr Ferrante…”  
  
Ferrante smiled. “Come on, Jim. We're both big boys. Call me Greg.”  
  
“Greg. I came here to talk about the case.” Jim leaned back, tight lipped as the waiter returned for their orders. He hadn't even looked at the menu, and now flipped though it, choosing a dish at random. Predictably, his menu had no prices. “I'll take the steak, medium rare. Baked potato and salad, thanks.”  
  
“A man who knows what he wants.” Ferrante grinned. “Like me. So, Jim, do you really expect me to believe you didn't know what you were getting into? You can leave any time you want, you know.”  
  
Jim looked away, inspecting the other diners cursorily before looking back at Ferrante. “How about we just eat the meal? I hate to waste good food.”  
  
“Sure.” Ferrante smiled blandly and took another sip of wine before launching into a story about his recent holiday – surfing in Hawaii.  
  
Since surfing was a favourite sport of Jim's – not that he ever got the chance any more – they chatted easily enough until the meals were placed before them. By that time they'd almost killed one bottle and Ferrante ordered another, with a sly grin in Jim's direction.  
  
It was obvious that the other man had in no way given up hope, but he was charming and interesting to talk to on a number of topics, and Jim hadn't eaten in a good restaurant in far too long. It was nice, too, to have the kind of attention that Ferrante displayed directed at him. After five years with Blair, they were getting to be like an old married couple.  
  
The thought of Blair made Jim wonder what the hell he thought he was doing. Okay, he had no intention of ending the evening in bed with his companion, but…  
  
“Something wrong, Jim?” Ferrante's expression was one of concern, but Jim thought he saw a smug certainty underlying it and that was the last straw.  
  
“I have to go.” He pushed back his chair hurriedly and stood. “This was a mistake.”  
  
“Hold on.” Ferrante rose too and signalled to the waiter.  
  
Jim heard him telling the man to put the bill on his account as he went out onto the street. The chill air sobered him enough to realise that he probably shouldn't drive and he started towards the intersection with Fifth where there were usually cabs to be found.  
  
“Hey, Jim. Wait.” Ferrante hurried up beside him, catching his arm. “Look, Jim, can we talk? If there's something wrong…”  
  
“The only thing wrong was me being here in the first place.” Jim turned to face him wearily. “I'm sorry, Greg. I'm in a relationship, okay?”  
  
Ferrante's face hardened into angry lines. “No. Not okay. What kind of cocktease are you? You're only telling me this _now_? Are you going to go home and laugh over this with your boyfriend? You've made a big mistake messing with me.”  
  
Anger at himself as much as the other man made Jim's voice drop to a vicious snarl. “Don't you even _think_ about threatening me, Ferrante. I made a mistake, I'm sorry, and this is _over_. Do. You. Hear. Me?”  
  
He waited a moment longer, but Ferrante didn't speak. With a curt nod, Jim turned on his heels and strode as fast as he could towards Fifth.

***

The hallway was deserted. He almost held his breath as he took each careful step that brought him to the door. Listening intently, he could hear no sign of movement inside, but at six o'clock in the morning, that was what he'd hoped for. Biting his lower lip, he slid the key silently into the lock and turned it with only the faintest of clicks.  
  
Still no sound from inside. He turned the key, slowly, slowly… and eased the door open. Everything looked normal enough. He slipped through the door and closed it behind him.  
  
Okay, now what? There was obviously nobody in the large space in front of him, but… the most likely place for the target to be was upstairs. He slipped off his boots and in sock feet began to creep across the wooden floor, his senses alert for any sign of movement.  
  
It came from an unexpected direction, and without warning.  
  
“What the _hell_ … Blair?” Jim was standing in the hallway leading to the bathroom, wearing his grey bathrobe and with a towel hanging forgotten from his right hand.  
  
Blair grinned weakly. “Surprise?” He would have gone to Jim but some bastard must have glued his socks to the floor, because he couldn't move.  
  
Jim dropped the towel and lunged forward. It took about the space of two heartbeats for Jim to reach him, grab his face between both hands and start to devour his mouth like a starving man. And yeah, the devouring was mutual. Blair groaned as the familiar sensations flooded through him. His cock hardened instantly and, after three months of denial, he had no intention of waiting a second longer than necessary.  
  
They were already moving towards the couch, Blair stumbling backwards, Jim apparently on autopilot, because his eyes were closed. Somewhere along the way, Jim's bathrobe had disappeared, but Blair was still fully dressed; Jim hadn't moved either his hands or his mouth more than a millimetre since he'd first got hold of Blair.  
  
That was a situation that couldn't be allowed to continue. Blair managed to drag his mouth free of Jim's – not easily, but he did it – and then stood, gasping for breath as Jim's eyes, now open, gradually lost their dazed expression. He couldn't speak, though. The words slithered through his brain, refusing to stick long enough to activate his speech centre. He growled in frustration and began to attack his own clothes.  
  
Finally, Jim got the message. He pounced on Blair again and ripped off his shirt, allowing it to fall as soon as it was free. Blair grabbed Jim's face and slid his tongue into Jim's mouth and god, it was _Jim_ … his taste… okay mostly toothpaste, but _their_ toothpaste and everything about it told him he was home, with Jim, where he belonged.  
  
He hit the couch, on his back and naked, with Jim on top of him and there just wasn't any downside to that. Well, okay, maybe one… he rolled them onto their sides, humping and grinding his cock against Jim's, feeling like he was just going to _explode_ any second now. Their legs tangled and that – and Jim's arms holding him like iron bands – was probably the only reason he didn't fall off the couch ass first.  
  
Jim looked… incredible. His eyes were glazed over again, as though nothing existed for him except for the feel of his skin against Blair's. Blair knew that at this moment in time he could do _anything_ and Jim would just allow it. He ached with the immensity of the love he felt for Jim right now, and there was only one way he wanted to show it.  
  
With a lot of shoving and wriggling, he managed to get Jim onto his back at last. Blair pushed himself up to the full length of his arms and stared down at Jim's flushed, distracted face. He needed lube, but there was obviously no point in asking Jim. His desperately questing eyes found a tube of hand cream on the coffee table and he snatched it, reminding himself he should ask, later, why Jim needed hand cream. If his senses had been acting up…  
  
He squeezed out a generous amount and rubbed the thick cream between his palms, then wrapped one hand around his own cock, the other around Jim's. Immediately, Jim's hips surged up, driving his cock into Blair's grasp. “Blair… god, do it…”  
  
There was so much more Blair wanted to do, but neither of them was going to last long. He placed a kiss on the inside of Jim's knee as he moved his lover into position, and ran his finger lightly over Jim's hole, probing briefly before taking his cock in hand and pushing inside.  
  
Jim arched into him, his body taut, head thrown back as a long, desperate growl escaped him. Blair leaned forward, supporting himself on his elbows, his chest barely brushing Jim's, and began to fuck him with a mindless ferocity that was more than matched by Jim's response.  
  
He was completely trapped inside the circle of Jim's arms and legs, but that didn't matter. He would be bruised from the fierce grip of Jim's fingers, but he didn't care. All that mattered was to connect with Jim again after this unbearable separation. How could he have stayed away this long? How could he not have noticed he'd been slowly dying inside?  
  
Nothing outside of them registered, but Blair was intensely aware of the sounds Jim was making, the heat pouring off both their bodies, the clutch and slide of Jim's ass around his cock. He knew the moment before Jim's breath began to falter that the end was on them and he drove in once more, deep into Jim's body, and hung there while Jim convulsed beneath him, keening. Finally, when the last weak shudder eased, Blair relaxed his control and, laying his head on Jim's chest, allowed his own climax to take him.  
  
Long seconds passed. Rasping breaths eased into normality and Blair became aware of the sweat trickling down to pool at the base of his spine. Jim was utterly still apart from the rise and fall of his chest. He felt devastated – like the laundry of the Iban women, pummelled against rocks then wrung out and draped across sun-warmed boulders to dry.  
  
Blair raised his head with an effort and stared down at his lover. Who stared back at him, exhausted and still silent. He managed a wavering smile. “Miss me?”

***

Much later, after they'd made love and slept and made love and slept again – and somewhere in there managed to eat – Jim rolled onto his side, ignoring the twitch in the back of his mind that urged him to at least change the sheets, and looked at Blair lying somnolent and smugly pleased with himself and asked the question he should have thought of hours ago.  
  
“Why are you back so early?” He brushed his fingers over the curve of Blair's cheek, still needing to remind himself occasionally that this was real. That Blair was really here, in his bed, in his life again. “Did something go wrong?”  
  
Blair smiled, quiet and calm. “Nothing went wrong.” He yawned widely and didn't seem inclined to say anything more, so Jim prodded a little.  
  
“So, was the expedition cancelled?”  
  
Blair shook his head. “No. I decided to come back.”  
  
Which all added up in Jim's brain to 'does not compute', or maybe more accurately, 'I don't understand'. He rolled Blair onto his back with a gentle shove and lowered his head to kiss him slowly and thoroughly. God, he _still_ couldn't get enough of him, even though they were both exhausted.  
  
“Look, babe, if there was a problem, you can tell me.” And I'll fucking _kill_ Stoddard if he laid one finger on you. “Why did you come back?”  
  
“Jim…” Blair sighed and closed his eyes, tiny frown lines appearing on his forehead. They were the kind he got when he was trying to work something out, so Jim waited with whatever patience he could muster. Eventually, Blair's eyes opened again and he smiled. “You were right. The expedition was a blast. I enjoyed every minute of it.”  
  
“Okay…” Nope. Still not making sense.  
  
“Well, there was that one time, when I found a snake in my sleeping bag, but apart from that…” Blair grinned deprecatingly. “It was completely harmless. Everyone laughed at me.”  
  
Jim sighed. “I'm pretty sure that wasn't the reason you came back.”  
  
“Nope.” Blair reached up to touch his face, his eyes moving over Jim's features as if he was cataloguing them. “I came back because… fuck, Jim, I didn't think it would be so hard to tell you this…”  
  
He caught Blair's hand in a fierce grip. “You know you can tell me. What happened?”  
  
“No, no… Jim, I _swear_ it's nothing bad.” Blair laughed softly. “Just back off and listen, okay?”  
  
“I'm listening, but you're not saying much, Darwin.” Jim flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “This better?”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair bumped his side gently with an elbow. “Okay, so I'm having a great time. The Iban are pretty neat people, and the team, they were fun. The jungle's _amazing_ – I should take you there some day. There's a hotel up there – a Hilton, for god's sake – so it's not hard for tourists to get there. To the edges of the jungle, at least.”  
  
Jim nudged him pointedly. “All right, all right…” Blair chuckled. “I just realised that it wasn't the place I needed to be. That's all.”  
  
“That's all?” Jim turned to stare at him. “You go nine thousand miles to be part of this expedition and then you bail out after three months because it wasn't where you ' _needed to be_ '?”  
  
“Well, if you put it like that…” Blair shrugged. “Yeah.”  
  
“Fuck. I'm guessing that Stoddard is gonna want your ass on a plate.”  
  
“Pretty much.” Blair smiled serenely. “But since I'm planning on joining the next intake to the Academy, I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?”  
  
So they were back to that again. Jim sighed. “I thought you didn't want…”  
  
“I said I needed some space and I did.” Blair frowned at him. “Look, Jim, I'm not being flaky here. I've thought about it and this is what I want. It's what I've wanted for _years_.”  
  
“You could have done this three months ago. No, hear me out.” Jim laid his fingers over Blair's mouth and he subsided with obvious reluctance. “You could have done it two _years_ ago, after you finished your undergrad degree. To me, it seems like you've kept on putting it off because deep down, you don't really want to do it.”  
  
Blair's eyes flashed with impatience. “You encouraged me to get my Master's. I thought you _wanted_ me to put it off.”  
  
“I wanted you to be sure.” Jim shook his head. “I'm still not convinced that you are. If Simon agrees to sponsor you and you pull out again, he's going to be really pissed.”  
  
“And so are you?” Blair relaxed again, smiling. “It's not going to happen. Jim… when I said Borneo wasn't where I needed to be, I meant… _here_ is where I need to be. Here. With you, being your partner, your guide. I just didn't get it before. It's about commitment. All these years we've been together, and I never understood. It was just so easy to be with you…” he smiled mischievously, “well, most of the time. I really never thought about it in those terms, you know?”  
  
Jim swallowed as his throat tightened. He couldn't trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.  
  
“The expedition… it was great, but I went because… well, because Eli offered me the opportunity and it seemed like a good idea. I stayed with you because it never really occurred to me that I'd ever want to be anywhere else. Being away from you made me realise that I needed to come back and make a choice - a real commitment. To you.” Blair prodded him gently in the chest with his forefinger. “To _us_. To our future.”

***

At some point, Jim remembered to call Simon and tell him that Blair was back, and that he was taking some personal leave. Prudently, he didn't give Simon much of a chance to ask questions, and he suspected that Simon would rather not know the details anyway.  
  
Finally, late in the afternoon of the day following Blair's return, they dragged themselves reluctantly back into the real world. Jim sent Blair off to shower and then shop for food while he stripped the bed and took the sheets down to the basement laundry. Then he showered and started the clean up.  
  
It wasn't too bad – they hadn't eaten enough to make much mess in the kitchen, but he cleaned the area top to bottom. Blair arrived back just as he was going down to the basement to put the clean clothes into the dryer. He came back up the stairs ready to crack open a beer, put his feet up and just relax with Blair.  
  
Blair's voice drifted down to him when he was still only halfway up. “Jim's just down in the laundry. Come in and wait for him.”  
  
“Thanks.” It was Ferrante's voice, and Jim froze for a moment, then started taking the steps two at a time. After their meal together Ferrante had called him a couple of times, alternating between ingratiating compliments and snide, sarcastic innuendo until Jim had told him not to call again unless it was about the case. That had been only a few days ago. Obviously, he'd decided to up the stakes.  
  
There was nothing Jim could do but listen in horror as Blair asked Ferrante if he'd known Jim long.  
  
Ferrante laughed, and Jim could just imagine the look on his face. “Not long. We've only been dating a couple of weeks.”  
  
He was at the top of the stairs now, and Jim sprinted down the short hallway and through the door. Blair's head turned, his expression more startled than anything. It was the expression of someone who'd been hurt but hadn't yet felt the pain. Jim skidded to a halt between Blair and Ferrante.  
  
“Get out.” He stepped forward, well into Ferrante's personal space. “If I ever see you around here again, you'll regret it.”  
  
It gave him no satisfaction at all to see the smugness fade into sudden fear. Ferrante tried to rally, his mouth opening, no doubt to make some sarcastic comment. He backed up a little, but Jim took another step forward and raised his hands to shove Ferrante in the direction of the door. After a moment, his nerve broke and he left with a mocking 'see you later'.  
  
Jim shut the door and leaned against it for a moment, gathering his reserves. The worst, he was sure, was yet to come. He turned to face Blair and found himself staring at a blank-faced simulacrum.  
  
“Jim? You want to explain what that was all about?” His voice was empty of inflection.  
  
“Blair, I'm sorry.” He took a step towards Blair, but he, too, backed away.  
  
“No! Tell me what he meant.” Blair took a deep gasping breath, held it for a moment before letting it out. “Were you dating him while I was away?”  
  
“It wasn't…” But he couldn't lie, not outright, not to Blair. “I went out with him once. I wish I hadn't.”  
  
“So a one night stand is okay?” Blair shook his head dazedly. “You better tell me, man. I obviously don't know the rules. Should we have been using condoms the last couple of days?”  
  
“No! Blair, it wasn't like that.” Desperation coloured his voice, made it rough and shaky. “We went out for dinner one night. He… obviously expected us to end up in bed together. I walked out on him. He was pissed at me. That's all that happened.”  
  
He watched as Blair thought about it. Then the blue eyes lifted to his. “So it wasn't a real date? I mean, you didn't know…” he didn't finish the question and Jim knew that his face had given him away. “You got cold feet.”  
  
The accusing tone of Blair's voice snapped the fragile hold Jim had on his temper. He'd told himself often enough in the last few days that he'd never had any intention of giving Ferrante what he wanted, but he couldn't even completely convince himself that it was true.  
  
“Look, he seemed like a nice guy, I was… was lonely. I thought…” He clenched his jaw and felt the muscle twitching. He shouldn't have to feel this guilty. Not when he'd spent the last three months going slowly crazy thinking about Blair in the jungle with Stoddard and god knows who else. “Are you honestly going to tell me that Stoddard never tried it on with you? I saw the way he looked at you.”  
  
Blair blinked furiously. “Of _course_ he did! I told him I wasn't…” he stopped dead and Jim saw his eyes widen. “Oh.”  
  
Jim watched as Blair fumbled one of the kitchen chairs out from under the table and dropped into it. Then Blair dropped his head into his hands. He wasn't crying, at least not audibly. Jim thought he was probably too shocked to feel very much. He stood and watched helplessly, knowing that he might have just wrecked the best thing that had ever happened to him.  
  
After a remarkably short time, Blair looked up again. His face was pale beneath its tan and somehow hollowed out. Jim took a step forward, his hand going out towards his lover. “Blair, please…”  
  
“No.” Blair pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “I can't talk about this right now. I… I'm going for a walk.”  
  
He went over to the hook where his jacket hung and took it down, but didn't put it on. Then he took a set of keys from the side table by the door. He went out, closing the door quietly behind him.

***

Blair walked for hours, without having any clear idea of where he went. All he could think about was the hurt, angry look on Jim's face as he'd all but accused him of cheating with Eli. As if that made what _he'd_ done okay. Jesus! He didn't know which was worse – that Jim had intended to cheat on him, or that he thought Blair would do the same with Eli.  
  
Actually, no. He _did_ know. When he finally came to that conclusion, Blair stopped dead, ignoring the other pedestrians who bumped into him. Okay, now, at least he knew what he was dealing with. It was a start, he supposed. He looked around and realised he was in a part of town he didn't really know. Still, he couldn't be very far from a taxi stand.  
  
Half a block later, he realised he'd come out without his wallet. He could take a chance on getting an understanding cabbie who'd allow him to go upstairs to get his wallet, he supposed, but actually, Blair wasn't in any hurry to go back and face Jim. He hunched his shoulders against the chill wind and kept walking.  
  
It was well after dark when Blair got to 852 Prospect, but there were no lights on in the loft windows. He went upstairs and let himself into the apartment. “Jim?”  
  
There was no answer, which didn't particularly surprise him. He switched on the lights and immediately saw the note lying on the table. His heart thudded suddenly, and it took a distinct effort for him to walk over to the table and pick it up.  
  
  
  
That was it. No signature, nothing but this curt piece of information. Blair crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it across the room.  
  
“ _Fuck_! Fuck _you_ , Ellison! Run away like you always do.” The fact that he'd done the same, earlier, was beside the point. _He_ wasn't the one who didn't trust his lover to keep it in his pants – though obviously he should have been. _He_ was entitled to be pissed.  
  
The food he'd bought this afternoon was still in the fridge, but food wasn't on the agenda any more. Blair grabbed a bottle of beer and opened it, draining half of it in a few greedy swallows. Then he went to the couch and threw himself on it, booted feet resting on its pristine surface. One of the house rules broken. He took another swig of the beer and sniggered. “Whatcha gonna do about _that_ , Jim?”  
  
Blair didn't usually drink much – a couple of beers was his limit most of the time – but tonight called for a different approach. He quickly finished the first bottle and brought two more from the fridge. And since his preferred target wasn't available, he turned the TV to ESPN and heckled players and commentators alike.  
  
Before the third bottle was finished, his head was swimming unpleasantly; reminding him why drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea.  
  
“Gotta piss,” he muttered and staggered to the bathroom. He took care of business, leaning against the wall, his eyes blurring and gut churning. “Fuck. Gotta eat something.” He glanced at his watch – eleven thirty, but there was always the twenty-four hour Pizza Hut delivery. He could eat their crappy pie just this once.  
  
The hiss of the toilet flushing reminded him that he'd just broken another one of Jim's rules. “Oops. Flushing after ten. Jim's gonna be so _pissed_.” For some reason this struck him as hilariously funny and he laughed so hard he nearly walked into the doorframe on the way out. It sobered him slightly and he shook his head. Also not a good idea… “Jesus, I'm a cheap drunk.”  
  
A couple of slices of pizza helped to settle Blair's stomach, though not to clear his head to any great degree. Some strong coffee helped only enough to make him realise that drinking coffee at almost one-thirty in the morning wasn't the smartest idea he'd ever had. He went upstairs anyway, and lay in the bed, acutely aware of the emptiness where Jim usually slept.  
  
“Why'd you do it, Jim? Why?” Misery almost overwhelmed him, but there was still a hard core of frustrated anger lodged solidly in his gut and he forced back any hint of tears. “Fuck it. Fuck it all.”  
  
He began to jerk himself off – at least it provided a distraction – but in that, too, the alcohol he'd drunk proved to be more hindrance than help. It took a long time to get hard, and even longer before his rough stroking finally got him off. He lay gasping, his cock feeling like it had been rubbed raw, then rolled over to Jim's side of the bed to wipe himself off with the sheet.  
  
“It's all your fault,” he muttered and finally fell asleep.

***

Someone was banging on the front door. At first Blair simply pulled the covers over his head, scrunching his eyes closed, but the banging continued and his head was aching. He rolled out of bed, found Jim's old grey bathrobe and pulled it on as he stumbled downstairs.  
  
“Okay! I'm coming.” His visitor was probably the last person he'd expected. “Bill? Jim's not here.”  
  
William Ellison's craggy face was set in grimmer than usual lines. “Can I come in?”  
  
Wordlessly, Blair stepped back and opened the door wider. “Sorry. I just woke up. Late night…”  
  
Ellison walked past him noting, without doubt, the empty beer bottles and pizza delivery box on the coffee table. Blair hurried to clear them away; he'd never been entirely sure what Jim's father thought of him. The old man had always been polite enough, but he was deeply conservative and Blair was pretty sure he wouldn't like the idea of his son living with another man, especially one who'd worked as a hooker.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on tangles. God only knew what he looked like, but he sure felt like shit. He certainly wasn't ready to talk to Jim's father about what had happened. “Um… I don't think Jim will be back for a while.”  
  
“I know.” Ellison spoke flatly. “I came to see you.”  
  
“Oh. Um…” It occurred to him suddenly that maybe he was here to deliver a message from Jim. Or, more likely, to make sure that his son's ex-boyfriend didn't steal the cutlery before he was kicked out of the apartment. “Uh… well… it shouldn't take long for me to find a new place. Maybe a couple of days?” One of his friends at Rainier might let him crash in their apartment for a few days. “Tell Jim…”  
  
“Blair.” Ellison cut through his rambling with quiet efficiency. “Jimmy doesn't know I'm here. I wanted to talk to you. To see if the two of you can get past whatever it is that's happened and get back together again.”  
  
“Get back…” He couldn't even find words now, and stood with his mouth at half-mast, utterly stunned.  
  
Ellison's face creased with dry amusement. “You look like you've had a rough night. Why don't you go take a shower while I make some coffee.”  
  
“Okay.” Blair made his way to the bathroom wondering what the hell rabbit hole he'd fallen into _this_ time.

***

He ended up eating breakfast at the Ellison house under Sally's watchful eye. After his shower and a cup of coffee, Ellison had suggested that Blair come with him to his house so he could see some thing or other – he really hadn't been clear on the details. Since he was still in no condition to argue the point, Blair had acquiesced almost apathetically. His reward was the best buttermilk pancakes and blueberry syrup that he'd ever eaten.  
  
Sally allowed him two more cups of coffee, but when he reached for the pot a third time, she smacked his hand away gently and poured him a glass of milk, grumbling under her breath that coffee was no good, very bad. He drank it, grinning, and offered to help her wash up, which she refused indignantly.  
  
With no excuses left, Blair went to join Ellison in his den – the lion's den, Blair thought nervously. The old man was sitting in a leather armchair, staring thoughtfully at a box of jumbled up toys and books and assorted junk.  
  
“You wanted to show me something?” Blair perched uncomfortably on the edge of the other armchair.  
  
“Yes.” Ellison transferred his gaze from the box to Blair. “I haven't spoken to Jimmy but Steven has told me enough that I know Jimmy feels that he can't continue with your relationship.” As Blair opened his mouth, he added hastily, “I don't want to know the details – that's between you and Jimmy. But there's some things you don't know about Jimmy and I think you need to know before you make any decisions regarding your relationship with him.”  
  
“Bill…” Blair glanced down at his hands, gripping his knees with almost painful intensity. He lifted his eyes to met Ellison's gaze reluctantly. “I may be out of line here, but I would have thought that you'd be pleased that Jim and I broke up.”  
  
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. “You've made Jimmy happy all these years. I want Jimmy to continue to be happy.”  
  
“Okay.” Now he knew where he stood, Blair took a deep breath. “What do you want to tell me?”  
  
“Here.” Ellison took a mounted presentation set out of the box and passed it to him.  
  
There were two photos, one of two football teams, kids aged about ten or so, and a separate photo portrait of Jim. Blair looked at the rounded, serious face, the sombre eyes and sensitive mouth for a moment, then turned his attention back to the other photo. “All right. What does it mean?”  
  
“That day was the championship final for their league. Jimmy's team won.” He seemed to struggle for a moment before continuing. “After the game, Jimmy found the body of a man who'd been murdered. Karl Heydash, Jimmy's coach.”  
  
Blair looked more closely at the man William Ellison indicated. “Jim's never mentioned it to me.”  
  
“That doesn't surprise me.” Ellison sighed, his face grim. “When the police questioned him, Jimmy claimed to have seen the murderer – seventy-five yards away in a dense stand of trees and brush.”  
  
For a moment, Blair couldn't breathe. Sentinel senses were supposed to be genetic, but Jim hadn't shown any sign of developing them until well into adulthood. This was the first indication that he might have had them as a child. “Uh, Bill…”  
  
He was ignored. “I apologised to the police, and when I got Jimmy home…” Ellison rubbed his eyes wearily. “I really laid into him. Told him he was making things up and the real murderer might get away. Then I told him that people would think he was a freak.”  
  
“Bill, there's something you don't know about Jim.” Blair's throat tightened and he coughed. Jim might not appreciate his father being told these things, but _somebody_ had to know, if Blair wasn't going to be part of Jim's life any more. “He has this… this ability…”  
  
“I know.” Ellison caught hold of Blair's arm. “Blair, I know… he always managed to know things he shouldn't have been able to. He didn't seem to realise how much he was giving away, and I was scared for him. But after that day, it just stopped. Jimmy changed and it was like something inside him had died. I killed it, Blair, and I don't think he's ever forgiven me.”  
  
“He got it back – the senses.” The old man's distress moved Blair, but it didn't make any difference to what was happening now. “He's using them to help people. It's okay.”  
  
“You don't understand.” Ellison's hand tightened on his arm. “I betrayed him. I didn't trust him and, as far as _he_ knows, I didn't believe him. That's what he can't forgive.” He released Blair and sank back in his chair. “There's something else you need to know.”  
  
When he didn't continue, Blair prompted quietly. “What is it?”  
  
“You have to understand, I was a single dad at a time when there just weren't any single dads.” He paused, looked at Blair consideringly and shrugged. “At least, not any that I knew. I did the best I could, but… well, there are things I'd do differently if I had the chance.  
  
“I wanted the boys to be strong, competitive – to succeed. So, I made them compete against each other. If one of them did well at school one week, he was the one I'd take to the Jags game.” He rubbed his forehead wearily. “When he got older, I used to let Jimmy drive my car. He loved that car, but he was only allowed to drive it when I was with him. One day I caught him backing it out of the garage and I ripped him a new one. You know what I mean?”  
  
Blair nodded. He suspected that being on the receiving end of William Ellison's anger would be pretty intimidating.  
  
“Well, a few weeks later, I came home and found the car all dinged up. Jimmy swore he hadn't taken it out, but I didn't believe him. He was supposed to be coming on a trip with me to Korea, but instead I took Steven. A few months after that Jimmy graduated high school and left home. He took a summer job in California picking fruit, and after that he went to college on the ROTC scholarship. I didn't see him again until the day I met you.  
  
“What I didn't know… what Steven only admitted to me years later, was that it was Steven who damaged the car. He was the one who'd originally been supposed to travel with me, but his grades dropped, and as punishment I told Jimmy _he_ was coming. Steven did it for revenge and so he could go to Korea.”  
  
There were tears gathering in the old man's eyes. “When Steven was younger, he worshipped Jimmy, and Jimmy adored him, looked out for him. I destroyed that bond. And Steven… Jimmy must have known that Steven damaged the car, but he didn't say anything. He let Steven betray him and then he just walked out of both our lives. I don't think he would ever have come back, if it hadn't been for the case he was working on. The one where he met up with Steven again.”  
  
“Probably not.” Blair remembered those days all too clearly. “He'd never even mentioned to me that either of you existed. But, Bill, I don't know how this is going to help. Ihaven't betrayed Jim, and he knows it.”  
  
“No. I believe that Jimmy feels he has somehow betrayed you.” Ellison looked him directly in the eye. “Is that… do you think that could be why he left?”  
  
Suddenly, Blair got it. “He thinks it's over, because that's what he'd do if I ever… oh, _god_ …” It was too much; he threw himself blindly out of the chair and stumbled to the windows, fighting for some measure of composure.  
  
Yes, that would be exactly like Jim, to impose his own punishment on himself, but it hurt to think that Jim would believe he'd just… just _dump_ him for making a mistake like that. The fact that he knew from his Psych courses that Jim was projecting his own insecurities onto Blair didn't help much. His ribs ached with the need to hold his pain inside, not to let Ellison see it.  
  
When he thought he could face Ellison without falling apart completely, Blair turned. “I have to… to…” he stopped at the look of pity on the old man's face and lifted his hand to his cheek. His fingers came away wet and he stared at them, as shocked as if they had been covered in blood, not tears.  
  
He didn't see Ellison move, but he realised he was leaning into the gaunt frame while the old man patted his back. He managed to push himself away, not sure that he wanted comfort from the man who had damaged both his sons so thoroughly. If there was anyone in the Ellison family he couldn't forgive, it would be Bill; but that would be something to think about later. Right now he needed to sort out his emotions and decide what he was going to do about Jim.

***

It was a fortunate thing that Steven's apartment had two bedrooms – little brother certainly knew how to live in style – because otherwise one of them would certainly have murdered the other by now. Jim had managed to avoid either committing, or being the victim of, fratricide by staying in his room as much as possible when he wasn't at work. To be fair to Steven, Jim was well aware of the fact that he was being a complete pain in the ass, but he figured Steven should be used to that by now.  
  
He also knew that his father had been to visit Blair – Steven had managed to inform him, somewhat obliquely, of that fact – and Jim wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a potential disaster. In his current frame of mind, it was difficult to believe that anything good could have come of it, especially as the days passed with no sign of Blair.  
  
Maybe he should make the first move – the whole situation was, after all, his own fault – but in the past it had always been Blair who'd been more willing to talk through their problems. That Blair had made no attempt to contact him seemed to Jim to indicate that he wasn't interested in sorting this one out. And who could blame him?  
  
Still, he couldn't help pricking up his ears, in a manner of speaking, whenever someone came to the door of the apartment. So, Jim knew immediately when Blair finally came to visit. He heard Steven's heartfelt “Oh, thank god you're here,” and then Blair's voice, amused, asking if Jim was being as pigheaded as usual.  
  
“Worse.” There was a pause, then. “He's in the spare bedroom.”  
  
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”  
  
At that, Jim hurriedly dialled down his hearing. Partly because Blair probably wouldn't want him listening in, partly because he was afraid of what he might hear.  
  
At least ten minutes passed before he heard the apartment door shut and then footsteps coming towards his room. Jim flung himself down on the bed, arms folded behind his head in what was probably a pointless attempt to appear casual. If Steven was coming to tell him the bad news, he could at least try to salvage something from the wreck of his pride.  
  
It wasn't Steven. Jim took one look at Blair, standing hesitantly just inside the door – his face, startlingly, now framed by short, loose curls – and was off the bed and across the room before he had time to think what a bad idea that probably was. He cupped his hands against Blair's cheeks and kissed him gently on the mouth.  
  
For the briefest of moments, the warm lips softened against his, then Blair stepped back, his hands coming up to ward Jim off. But Jim had enough sense to stay where he was, though he moved one hand to finger a short curl. “You cut your hair.”  
  
“Yeah well…” Blair smiled uncertainly, “It's not short enough for the Academy, but I figured I might as well start getting used to it.”  
  
He couldn't keep his eyes off Blair's face. Even seeing Blair with his hair tied back, as he often did, was no kind of preparation for how he looked now. “God. You look… you look like…” like he was eighteen years old again “…you look great.” And then what Blair had said sank in. “The Academy?”  
  
Blair blinked, obviously as distracted as Jim had been. “Look, we need to talk, but not in here. Steven's gone out so we can have some privacy.”  
  
That didn't sound very promising, but Blair was here, he obviously still intended to enrol in the Academy. Maybe there was hope. “Want a coffee?”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.” Blair seemed to be feeling just as awkward as Jim was. He knew he was bad at this, and making the drinks would at least give him something to do while he tried to recover from the shock of Blair's altered appearance. He caught a glimpse of Blair cautiously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.  
  
“When did you get it cut?” The kettle boiled and he poured the hot water into the plunger – no percolator for Steven – and left it to steep while he found the mugs.  
  
“This morning.” Blair shrugged and smiled uncomfortably. “It still feels weird.”  
  
“It looks great.” Jim realised belatedly he'd already told Blair that and turned back to pour out the coffee. If he couldn't stop acting like an idiot, maybe he should just shut up. He carried the mugs over to where Blair stood by the lounge windows. “Here.”  
  
“Thanks.” Blair took a sip of the coffee, then looked up, meeting Jim's eyes. “Maybe we should sit down.”  
  
“Okay.” He sat in one of the armchairs. Blair sat on the couch and put the mug on the coffee table. “Blair, I…”  
  
“Jim, please, will you let me say something first?” Blair looked at him pleadingly and he nodded jerkily, once again sure that whatever Blair had to say, it couldn't be good. “I'll… I'll try to make it quick, okay?”  
  
“Yeah. That would be good.”  
  
Blair nodded. “Look, first… I just want you to know that I meant what I said about being a cop. No matter what happens, I'm going to the Academy. I've talked to Simon, and he thinks he can find a place for me in Major Crime as soon as I've graduated. At most, I'll have to go on patrol for a couple of months.” He smiled faintly. “Which would probably be a useful experience anyway, so I don't mind.”  
  
“All right.” Jim stared down into his mug, reserving judgement on progress so far. It could all still go to hell.  
  
“I'd _like_ to work with you. That's what I'd always planned, and that still holds. But…” Blair took a deep breath, “it's up to you. If you don't feel like we can work as partners… well, I'll be disappointed, but I'll understand. I've told Simon, and he's okay with it too.”  
  
Jim looked up at him in horror. “Jesus, Blair, what have you…”  
  
“I haven't told him anything, okay, Jim? Just that we may decide not to work together.” Blair frowned irritably. “Which, strictly speaking, we shouldn't do anyway, but because of the sentinel thing, Simon was willing to overlook it. I'm _assuming_ ” he emphasised the word with a sardonic look, “that you'll be willing to work in the same department as me.”  
  
“Of course I will!” So, this was it. For the moment Jim was too numb to feel the pain, but it would come. He didn't have any doubt about that. “Is that everything? Because, I…”  
  
“No, it's not.” Blair stood, leaving his coffee mug almost untouched on the table, and went over to the window again. There was a great view of the harbour, but somehow Jim doubted that Blair was really looking. “Okay, I wanted you to know that I can still help you with your sentinel abilities, whether or not we stay together.”  
  
“So there's still a question over that?” He wouldn't allow himself to hope, but he felt like a weight had lifted from his shoulders all the same. “It's still possible?”  
  
Blair stared at Jim for a long time without speaking. His eyes began to shine with moisture and he ducked his head, looking away. “It's possible.”  
  
“Look, Blair… I'm so sorry about Ferrante. I swear nothing like that will ever happen again.”  
  
“You can bet your ass it won't.” Blair glared at him. “You told me a long time ago you wouldn't share me with anyone else. Well, I'm not about to share you either. I never thought I'd need to say it, but I'm saying it now. Okay?”  
  
“That's fair.” Jim smiled tentatively. He had a feeling he still wasn't out of the firing line. From the way Blair was still standing, arms wrapped across his chest, eyes once again downcast, there was more – and probably worse – still to come. “What else do you want to say?”  
  
Blair shook his head slowly, his shoulders hunched and rounded. His voice, when he finally spoke was barely louder than a whisper. “You thought I'd cheat on you. After all the years we've been together, you still don't trust me.”  
  
Jim flinched, unprepared for the pain that flashed through him. “No, it's not like that. Blair…”  
  
“Isn't it?” Blair looked at him, and his face was streaked with tears now. “The whore who doesn't give a damn who puts a dick up his ass – that's what I am to you. Maybe what I always will be. But I'm not that scared, fucked up little kid any more, Jim.”  
  
“Blair, I _never_ thought that.” Shocked, Jim was beginning to understand the damage he'd done – far worse than he could ever have imagined. “It was never about you, okay? Yes, I was afraid that… I was just… afraid. Not because I don't trust you, but because nothing good ever happened to me that didn't ended up going bad. And anybody I've cared about has…”  
  
“…betrayed you?” There was a spark of something in Blair's eyes. “Have you just been waiting for the day when I'd do the same?”  
  
Jim frowned. It wasn't something he wanted to think about but… “Not consciously. But, yes, maybe I was.”  
  
Strangely, his admission seemed to reassure Blair. He scrubbed roughly at his face and eyes, then dropped his hand and stared at Jim for several seconds. “Jesus, Jim. You're way more fucked up than I am.”  
  
He wasn't in any position to argue the point, and right now, he only cared that the anger and pain had receded from his lover's face. Even better, Blair came over and perched on the end of the couch closest to Jim's chair, even going so far as to lean over and rest his hand on the arm, near Jim's hand.  
  
“Your father came over the day after we… the day after.” Blair shrugged slightly. “He told me about how he made you and Steven compete, and about the car that Steven smashed up. He told me how he made you suppress your sentinel abilities as a kid.”  
  
For a moment, he was back in his father's house, the familiar, angry voice battering at him…  
  
 _“…you got to stop pretending or people are going to think you're a freak! You understand? Huh? Is that what you want? For people to think there's something wrong with you?”_  
  
“I forgot.” He grabbed Blair's wrist; the memories were flooding back as raw and as intense as the day it had all happened. “He told me I was lying, and even though I knew I wasn't, I just, just pushed everything down inside, shut it away. I let Bud's killer go free because I was afraid to trust myself.”  
  
“Jim, you were just a kid.” Blair raised his free hand to touch Jim's face. “You can't blame yourself for that. None of it's your fault, and your dad, he was just trying to protect you. Steven was just scared and angry – he never meant to hurt you. All this stuff… this baggage… you've gotta deal with it, man, before it screws up your life any more.”  
  
He was still struggling with the mingled memories and emotions, but something in Blair's voice brought him out of the downward spiral of hurt and shame. “Will you help me? Will you let me come home?”  
  
“Jim, it's _your_ home.” Blair smiled shakily. “All you ever had to do was trust me enough to ask.”

***

They finally made it home about ten. Somehow it had been easier to talk everything over in a neutral space. Then Steven had returned and he and Jim had talked about the car incident, and then a whole lot of other things. For the first time, ever, it seemed. There wasn't much to choose between any of the Ellison men as far as an inability to communicate was concerned. Blair manfully refrained from pointing that out.  
  
Jim unlocked the door and stopped inside to hang his jacket, while Blair headed for the stairs, intent only on getting some sleep after a long and emotionally trying day. He slowed as his hand reflexively came up to rub the back of his neck. It felt uncomfortably bare, and his scalp felt tight now that the weight of his hair was gone. He'd get used to it eventually, he supposed, but it still caught him by surprise now and then.  
  
He heard Jim's quick steps and was ready when his lover's arms slid around his waist from behind. The soft brush of lips against his nape sent a shiver through Blair's body, and he decided that maybe there were some advantages to short hair.  
  
He sighed and leaned his head back against Jim's shoulder, wanting only to enjoy the teasing caresses. But, as Jim's hands moved from his waist up over his chest and the gentle kisses became more insistent, his body's reaction grew more and more unnerving.  
  
The last straw came when Jim slid a hand inside his shirt, ruffling the hair on his chest and lightly pinching his nipple. He felt his entire body tense; it was almost as bad as the first few weeks he'd spent on the street, scared out of his mind that every john he took was going to beat him up or even kill him. He realised that his heart was hammering and sweat was breaking out all over his body.  
  
Jim's hands stopped their movements and then released him entirely. “Blair? What's wrong, babe?”  
  
“What's _wrong_?” His voice cracked, and Blair took a deep breath before turning to face him. He was shaking uncontrollably and he didn't know why it was happening now. He thought they'd talked about everything, sorted it all out, but there was still more. There was _always_ more, and he was so sick of it all.  
  
“I just spent the last few days trying to decide if I was insane for even _wanting_ to keep this relationship going, let alone whether it was possible.” Jim's face went blank, and that was _so_ very much the worst response he could have gotten. He _had_ to believe that Jim could – would – trust him and right now he was no more certain of that than he'd been since Jim had left him.  
  
“That thing with Ferrante? That was _nothing_. All the crap over Eli – even that I could have handled, but… you walked out on me, Jim. If I hadn't come to see you, would you have just moved on? Found somebody else? What happens the next time you get all fucked up and paranoid? Are you gonna walk out on me again?”  
  
“No. No!” Jim caught hold of his shoulders, pulling him close, and bent his head to rest his cheek against Blair's temple. “I'm never letting you go. _Never_. I just didn't know how to… Jesus, Blair, after what I did… how was I supposed to put things right?”  
  
“By _talking_ to me, you idiot.” Blair shoved at him until Jim stumbled back a step. “By saying you're sorry and you'll never do it again and you still…” he swallowed helplessly as his throat thickened, “You still love me.”  
  
“I still love you.” Jim's face was pale, shocked, but he spoke steadily enough. “I'm sorry. I'll never do it again, and I still love you.” Then the muscle in his jaw twitched and his eyes closed. When they opened again, the pupils were dilated, his eyes unfathomable. He brushed his tongue over his bottom lip and whispered, “Forgive me. Blair, can you forgive me?”  
  
“Yeah.” Blair nodded jerkily. He knew how much it had taken for Jim to ask – from all he'd learnt about Jim in the last few days, forgiveness wasn't normally a part of his vocabulary. “Yeah, I can. Do you believe me?”  
  
“I believe you.” A faint smile flickered across Jim's lips. He put a hand on Blair's arm and drew him back.  
  
Blair went, because he was helpless to do anything else. He wrapped his arms around Jim's chest, squeezing tightly, leaning against him physically, as he had for so long in other ways. Jim needed him, he realised, just as much as he had ever needed Jim and that was a huge shift in the paradigm of his universe.  
  
They were deep in uncharted waters now, but they'd get though it somehow; they had to, because he hadn't come this far just to lose Jim over this. And besides… there simply wasn't any other place in the world he'd rather be than where he was right now.  
  
He felt Jim kiss his hair and looked up into Jim's face – a face soft with love and a hint of wonder. Jim smiled down at him. “It's about commitment. Right?”  
  
“Right.” Almost light-headed with relief, Blair laughed weakly. “At last, he gets it.” 


End file.
